Beautiful Monster
by Musiclove95
Summary: Love makes you weak. My dad told me that for the first time when I was in kindergarten.  Please read, full summary inside! lots of love, Musiclove95
1. Whoa is Me

**Hey! This is my newest story! No I am not discontinuing my other fics, but this idea keeps popping up in my head, so I decided to put it on paper and see if you like it as much as I do. Okay, so I got this idea from my friend. We were at the movies watching _I Am Number Four_ (which by the way is awesome- I swear Alex Pettyfer is so hot in that movie) and the commercial for _Beastly _came on. Two things happened, my friend and I both started freaking out, and then we had this little epiphany moment and were like: OHMYGOD! THAT'S SO JACE! So that's how this fic was born. I love the book _Beastly _by Alex Flinn, so I started this story. I'm sure this idea has been done before, but I hope that I've made it my own enough. I'm going to use a plot line that's a cross-over between the book and movie, and I'm going to try to throw a few 'Jace' quotes in there. And yeah, this is unbeta-ed so please forgive me for making mistakes. I'm only human. Hope you enjoy!**

**Summary: Seventeen-year-old Jace Herondale is on top of the world. He's the most popular junior in the history of Alicante Private School, a school where only the beautiful are accepted. His life changes course when he decides to argue with the wrong person. Can he get his life back to where it was before, before his time runs out? True love knows no boundaries.**

**Note: Chapters are all named after songs.**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns the characters, and Alex Flinn and Daniel Barnz (the movie's director) own three-quarters of the plot, and Down With Webster owns the chapter song. So that means that I own . . . . any extra twists thrown in, and a ton of homework.**

**AN June 22, 2011: Hey so I'm reposting a few of these chapters cuz I screwed up my timeline a little bit. So for the record, the dance is Homecoming, and not the spring dance.**

**Enjoy!**

**AN June 26, 2011: YES, THIS STORY IS BASED ON THE BOOK/MOVIE _BEASTLY_!**

1. Whoa is Me

_Whoa is me_

_I'm so whoa_

_See me decked out from my head to my toe_

_Whoa is me_

_I'm so whoa_

_Everywhere I go I'm a one man show_

— _Whoa is Me_, Down With Webster

_Love makes you weak_. My dad told me that for the first time when I was in kindergarten. I had come home from school and was sitting on the couch with my nanny, Mai, when my dad called to check in with the nanny. Mai was new, and my dad wanted to make sure that we hadn't gotten run over on the way home from school. He was pretty shocked when I answered the phone. But Mai had allowed me to, because I had what she called 'news of good fortune'. I picked up the phone proudly and told him that my teacher had given me a gold star—in kindergarten, getting a gold star was like winning the lottery—for sharing my last Twinkie with a little girl in my class who didn't have a snack. The girl's father had gotten laid off, not that I actually knew what that meant when I was in JK, and the teacher was very proud of me. My dad told me off for 'wasting' his money on a poor person, and that being friends with her would be a liability. He didn't have to tell me twice.

MARCH 2011

It was June of my junior year of high school. I was on top of the world. As cliché as it may sound, for me the sky was the limit. Girl's loved me, guys wanted to be me, and if I do say so myself, I was pretty damn sexy. I was king of the school, with no rules applying to me.

My best friend since the first grade, Alexander 'Alec' Lightwood, was kicking my chair. I spun around to face him, saying, "What the hell was that for?"

"The sub told me to pass these up. I've been calling your name for five minutes now. Could Jace Herondale _actually _ be doing his work for once?" Alec asked sarcastically. "_Othello_ won't read itself, you know."

I rolled my eyes at him. "I already know what I need to. It's about this guy who thinks his wife cheated on him, so he kills her. The end. Anyway, I've been thinking up ways to get out of this class. Faking a migraine is probably the easiest . . ."

Alec slapped his hand on my shoulder. "Good old Jace. By the way, your name's on this. Mine too, actually. Even Izzy and Aline are on here."

I looked down at the slip Alec handed me. Sure enough, my name was on it. Not that I had expected any different. "What's it for?" I asked.

"Homecoming dance court nominations for princes and princesses. God, where's your head today?" Alec asked, snickering.

"Sorry, Queen Alec, I don't go to bed at nine thirty like you do. I'm just tired today. Aline and I had a great night."

"What the hell? You spent the night with Aline?" Alec burst, his face disapproving.

"_Ja._ Where else would I be? She _is_ my girlfriend," I pointed out.

Alec scoffed. "She only likes you because she thinks your dad can score her a position on the news. And she's an idiot. I think the blonde dye-job she just got is starting the poison her brain. She actually asked me how 'baby plants' were born yesterday in Biology. I told her that they baby plants came from humans who had sex on a night when the moon isn't out. _And_ she believed me."

That sounded like my girlfriend. Her GPA was lower than my cat's, and that saying a lot, since Agent Catnip was so stupid he ran into glass doors trying to chase fake birds, and he died. But it's not like I planned on marrying Aline or anything.

Alec kicked my chair again. "You have that look on your face that means you're thinking. It's making me nervous. What are you thinking about— Oh, God, no, never mind just . . . just forget I even asked. The last time you told me what you were thinking, I needed to lie down, and I threw up, and then I needed a cold shower . . . Anyway, don't look now, but everyone's staring at you."

And they were. But I was used to it. My dad always said that how much people like you is directly proportionate to what you look like. Based on that, it made sense that every girl wanted to be with me, and that every guy wanted to be me. I was rather stunningly attractive. I flashed my best, _Crest 3D White_-commercial-worthy smile. Then I looked down at my ballot. I would vote for my girlfriend, definitely, and for half a second, I thought about voting for Alec. Just to be nice. After all, it wasn't Alec's fault that his mom was beaten kicked off America's Next Top Model by Tyra Banks and was now working full time as customer service at Burberry, or that his dad was an infamous doctor. Really, you can't choose your parents, or what you're going to look like. I threw the idea out, remembering the Twinkie. _Love makes you weak, Jace. If you bend too far, you're more susceptible to breaking_. I quickly folded my ballot in half so Alec couldn't see that I voted for myself.

"Hey asshat, turn around!" Alec hissed at me. I spun my chair around.

"What?" I demanded.

"They're still staring at you." Alec stated the obvious. I just ignored him, instead waving at the people who were staring at me. "Would you stop that? You're giving me a migraine!" Alec cried.

I smiled bigger. "Alec, I know what you're trying to say. I know that I shine like the sun, and that the weight of being my friend is probably more than most people can handle. You're just feeling the effects of it. But don't worry, you get used to this. It would be cruel for me to deny the people what they want. Watch this," I said. Then I leaned backwards in a stretching position, my grey t-shirt riding up a little to show a strip of sun-kissed skin. A few girl's sighed, and someone's caught a picture of me.

"God, why haven't I killed you yet? You shouldn't be allowed to live." Alec shook his head.

I was about to come up with a retort when a nasally voice came from the back of the room.

"That's _disgusting_!" the nasal voice said.

I shot a glance at Alec. "Maybe she found gum under her desk and it was the wrong flavour." Alec suggested.

"Was it yours? 'Cause if she found mine, she'd probably be sensually chewing it right now, regardless of the flavour, so she could pretend to be French-kissing me. I leave a golden glow around everything I touch. I'm like King Midas, without the nasty side-effects like how his wife turned to gold when they had sex."

Alec rolled his eyes. "A) You're disgusting, and B) I don't leave gum under desks anymore. It's bad for the environment."

"Right, right. Like that time when you decided to stop using soap in the shower because you though Axe was polluting the sewer-fish population."

"Absolutely, positively disgusting!" the voice repeated. I turned around to get a better view of the girl. Once I had, I wished I hadn't. She was a prime example of why schools should be more selective of who they let in. Her hair was a mass of green frizzy curls, and she was at least fifty pounds overweight. Her eyes were the same shade of green as her hair, and her nose bore a strong resemblance to my grandmother's favourite parrot's beak. She was dressed in flowing black clothes that made me think of that movie on the Salem witch trials that we saw in English class the last time we had a supply teacher. And trust me, if I had a stake and a torch, I'd be tempted to burn her right then and there.

"Is there a problem back there? What's so disgusting, Miss . . ." the sub pushed his glasses up to get a better look at the freak.

"Fae. My name's Kaelie Fae." she said. She cast a disgusted look around the room.

"Miss Fae. Is there something wrong with your desk?"

"There's something wrong with everyone in this room," she said gravely. The she stood up and smacked the palms of her hands on her desk. "There's something wrong with everyone living in this society. And do you wonder how can I tell? It's that this type of elitist travesty is still be perpetuated!" She picked up her ballot and began to wave it in the air.

"That's a dance ballot. To, you know, choose the royalty." Alec explained in his special smart-ass voice.

"Exactly! But who are the people on this ballot? What would make you select . . . Jace Herondale as opposed to Sebastian Verlac?"

"Because he's damn _fiiiine_," someone drawled. I sent Alec an 'I told you so' smirk.

Kaelie ignored all of this. "Why should these people be treated like royalty, instead of other people? What is your criteria? A cute butt, abs, money? The people on this God damned ballot were chosen on one basis, and _only_ that one basis. It's only two little words. Physical. Beauty."

"That sounds good to me," I stage-whispered to Alec. He sent me a warning look, which I studiously ignored. In fact, I decided to stand up, which caused Mama Alec to go red. "What you're saying is crap. Everyone voted, and these—" I waved my ballot, "—are the finalists. It's a democratic process, and aren't we, the United States of America, a democracy? Saying this is bullshit is like saying that Obama wasn't elected fairly." A couple of people clapped and cheered, and I wondered if bowing would be a little overkill. I decided that it was. To my surprise, not everyone was cheering. Some people were silent.

Kaelie glared at me, and took a step forward in my direction. I ignored the cold feeling that her glare was giving me. "They don't know what to think. They're all so polluted with images of 'perfection' that they don't know right from wrong, or up from down. They vote for the 'popular' people because it's a short cut. No thinking is involved. Surface beauty is easy to spot—like the name suggests, it's all on the surface. You don't need to know the person to see that they have blonde hair, or clear skin, or eyes like gold, or white teeth. It's all aesthetically pleasing. But if a person is braver, kinder, stronger, smarter, that's harder to judge because you actually have to go beneath the surface."

I let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "I know what you're referring to. 'The meek shall inherit the earth' and all that crap, right? Well, maybe the meek will eventually inherit the earth, but for now it belongs to the conceited . . . like me. Besides, it's not _hard_ to become beautiful. If someone is so _ingenious_ they wouldn't find it that hard to call up a plastic surgeon and book an appointment. you could go on the Special K Challenge, get a Goodlife Fitness membership, get your teeth bleached, visit a plastic surgeon, even get your face scraped. It's not that hard. Complete idiots get it done all the time. Beautiful people get it better, it's just that simple."

"Come on Jace, sit your ass back down." Alec hissed at me.

I gave him the finger and continued. "My dad's a new anchor. In his business, if you're ugly, you don't get the part. If you looking so ugly, people won't take your spiel seriously. You could be talking about the death of a civilian police officer and people would be laughing. It's the way of the world."

Alec grabbed my arm and pulled me down. "You idiot, what if she's a murderer, or a rapist, or an escaped crazy person from an asylum?"

"I don't see her killing anyone, asswad, so I'd rule out all three of those." I replied.

She was glaring at me. The phrase 'If looks could kill' ran through my head. "So if you were elected president of the United States, you would throw people in jail for their looks? Do you think that's right?"

"Are we discussing my moral's now, bitch? Really?" I sneered.

"Yeah, we are. God, you're such a stuck up bastard." she replied.

I stood up again. "It's not like I'm telling you something that you don't know. Everyone knows. If you're as smart as you claim you are, you should be able to figure it out." I flipped my hair out of my eyes with a small toss of my head and looked into her eyes defiantly.

Her green eyes met mine and a shiver ran down my back. "Oh I know how the world works. But I don't have to like it. Or believe that's it's right. See, that's the nice thing about America, we have this little thing called freedom of speech. As long as I don't assassinate the president, I can think and say whatever. I. Want."

I held up my hands in surrender. "God, there's no need to freak out. Calm down." I rolled my eyes apologetically at the substitute teacher. "Sorry, she's on meds. I guess she forgot to take them this morning. I'll take her to the nurse if you want."

"Thank you, Mr . . ."

"Jace Herondale," I said, winking. I picked up my books and discreetly waved at Alec while I walked over and grabbed the stunned Kaelie by the arm.

Once we were out of the classroom, I let go of Kaelie. "Thank you, Miss Fae. You just got me out of class."

She glared at me. "You're a horrible person. You only get your way because of your looks. You better hope that you _never_ get ugly—"

I cut her off. "No worries, I'm like a sexier, non-angst-y Stefan Salvatore. I'll stay hot forever," I reassured her.

She continued, ignoring me. "—because as it is, I can stand to look at you for more than a minute at a time."

"Well, that's because I glow like the sun."

"Would you shut the hell up for two seconds? If you were to lose your looks, I doubt . . . no, I _bet_ you'd never be able to get them back. You're not smart enough, or lucky enough. I'd be damned if you didn't kill yourself over it. 'Cause, Jace, you're beastly and there's no way in hell that you can reverse that."

She stomped off, her robes streaming behind her. I leaned against the wall and shook my head.

_Its quiet, right before the storm I'm eyeing__  
__Everyone I see, I'm silent__  
__So damn fly I'm a pilot__  
__No I'm a giant__  
__Hope that you're ready when I set off the riot__  
__See my band, see my clothes__  
__Be my fan, see my show__  
__See my plan is to be so dope__  
__That you like me and me like whoa_

— _Woah is Me_, Down With Webster

**Yay! So there it is, the first chapter of _Beautiful Monster_! What did you think? Please let me know, you're opinions mean a lot to me. You get a chapter teaser if you can point out the two _City of Bones _lines I included and the two lines I included from the _Beastly _trailer. Please review and tell me if Alec was too OOC and Jace too overly obnoxious! Pretty please review!**

**xoxo!**

**Fireandice95**


	2. Uncontrollable

**Bonjour! Here is chapter 2 of my new story, Beautiful Monster. Merci beaucoup to everyone who reviewed, favourited, or story alerted this story! Your support is what keeps me going! I actually love all of the support I've been receiving for all of my work. You guys all rock! This story is my new favourite. Well, actually, I love all my stories but at the moment, this is the one I have the most inspiration for. Okay, so I'm going to stop typing and let you read the actual chapter now.**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns the characters, and Alex Flinn and Danial Barnz (the director) own three-quarters of the plot, and Stereos owns the chapter song. So that means I own . . . any extra twists I decide to throw in, and study notes for two tests (science and history, in case you were wondering. Chemistry and World War One, lucky me).**

**ENJOY!**

**Author's Note June 22, 2011: So I'm reposting this because I made a few mistakes with my timeline and some minor details.**

2. Uncontrollable

_We don't, gotta move slow_

_They won't know, breaking down is uncontrollable_

_I know it feels, electric appeal_

_We got it just, so let go go_

_Don't say no, keeping it low_

_They won't know,_

_Giving up is uncontrollable_

—_Uncontrollable_, Stereos

DECEMBER 2001

"What the hell?" a crash echoed down the hallway.

"I want out. I hate you! We fight constantly; I need out. Jace deserves a better environment to live in, Stephen. I don't want my son growing up in a defective family. I grew up in one, and it was crappy. My parents refused to split up because they were too lazy to go through the process. I don't want us to be like that!" That was my mom's voice.

"I know what your parents are like, Céline. I've _met_ them. What's wrong with us?" That was my father.

"Stephen, you know what's wrong with us. You're a workaholic . . ."

"You're always on your period, bitching at me about everything . . ."

"Will you just shut up? We're a defective family. You're not everyone's golden boy anymore, and I'm not the popular girl. You're a news anchor, and I'm a clothing designer. We're both stressed out all the time, and I don't want Jace to suffer because of it."

"Jonathan is fine. He's only seven years old, he'll learn to live with it. He needs you right now."

"I think you're confusing yourself with Jace, Stephen. He's grown up pampered by nannies and maids; he's practically grown up without us! We're both constantly working. I think that _you_ want me. And not because we're married, but because I'm the perfect trophy wife—an ex-Abercrombie model, a successful designer. I've found someone else, Stephen. And he's wonderful, and he loves me for my personality."

"So, you're just leaving. Taking my son from me and leaving?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Stephen, but once our divorce is finalized I want custody of Jace. You're right, boys his age need their mother's. I think that Jace would get along well with Michael. They have so much in common."

"You can have your damn divorce, but I'm keeping my son. And you can bet on that."

MARCH 2011

I didn't go back to English class. I left the building and sat in my car. My beautiful midnight blue Mercedes Benz; a birthday present from my dad. I sat there with my music blaring until it was time for second period, gym.

Alicante Private required all students who hoped to graduate to take one physical education course every year, for a total of four credits at the end of high school. It was an easy A for me, being the captain of four school sports—hockey, soccer, football, and volleyball—and assistant captain of the school's basketball and lacrosse teams.

I locked my car and started walking inside, my gym bag slung over my shoulder. Alec met me in the hallway by the locker rooms, slapping his hand on my shoulder.

"You got out of English. Congratulations." Alec praised.

"Of course I did. I can get out of any class. I'm just glad I took the witch out with me." I replied. Normally, I called girl's who pissed me off bitches, but this girl was certainly a witch. There was something about the flowing black clothes and green hair combination that screamed witch.

Alec pushed the locker room door open and we walked in. My official sports equipment locker was the biggest one in the corner of the room. Being the captain of four teams had its perks. I slipped my bag off my shoulder and onto the bench.

"Sup, Herondale?" a voice asked from behind me. I had my shirt half-off, so I finished pulling it off before answering.

"The usual, Verlac. What about you?"I replied.

"Beating you out of the race for Homecoming dance prince. Don't worry, I'll make sure to mention you in my winning speech. You'll make a good second place."

"What part of 'this is my school' don't you understand, Verlac. I mean, I know you're only taking college level English, but I didn't think my wording was too complex."

"Oh, shut the hell up. You're only passing English because of your dad's money."

"Wow, Verlac. Is it your time of the month already? You're in a bad mood."

"Oh, it's because of something called TMJ syndrome. Sadly, the whole school is suffering from it. I think it's time to implement some mandatory vaccinations."

"TMJ? Oh, that's cute, Verlac. Too Much Jace syndrome. Really original. You know, the one thing worse than TMJ syndrome is the thing you've got. It's ASS syndrome." I said.

Sebastian's head tilted to the side. "Awesome So Super syndrome? Amazingly Spectacular Sebastian syndrome? I don't get it."

I laughed at him, pulling my gym shirt over my head. "It's okay Verlac. Not all of us are the full package—brains and hotness. Well, some of us aren't even a half-package. Sorry buddy, but you didn't exactly come out on top of the gene pool. But its okay, I'm pretty sure that your looks aren't what Maia's interested in." I switched my jeans for a pair of shorts and quickly tied my shoes up. I left the stunned Sebastian alone and caught up to Alec.

"You and Verlac have been going at it forever," Alec commented.

"Yeah, and it's funny, he's never become any smarter," I said, laughing. I looked around the gym as we entered, instantly spotting the girl from English class. She was staring at me with her antifreeze-green eyes, a smirk on her face. I was taken aback; I wouldn't expect to see her in a gym class.

"You have your murderous face on. Who are you staring at?"Alec asked, waving his hand in front of my face.

"Huh?" I didn't realize I was staring. "Oh, the Goth girl from English is giving me the evil eye from the bleachers."

Alec looked over and winced. "If looks could kill, Jace, you'd be a dead man. She really hates you, doesn't she? What'd you do?"

"Nothing. Yet. But I have a plan. I know how to put her in her place. She can't parade around like nothing touches her."

"Right, 'cause that's your job." Alec interrupted.

"Did I ask for your feedback? I don't think so. Anyway, I'm going to help her see the social ladder we have here at Alicante. I'm really doing her a favour."

"She is pretty freaky, isn't she? It's like she appeared out of thin air today. You think someone would've noticed her before today," Alec pointed out.

A whistle blew."Five laps around the track! Last one finished does fifty push-ups. Get going!" Coach yelled.

Alec and I made it to the track and began running. For the most part, I was probably the fastest runner in the class. On my worst day, Alec and I were even speed. But I didn't really have any bad days. Athletics was _my_ thing. Usually, I ran the laps at a leisurely pace so I could talk to people while I ran. And because Coach liked to keep people busy. The second you finish laps, he'll find something else for you to do.

Even at my leisurely pace, I overlapped every person in the class. I had a mission of sorts, and I needed some time before we started the actual class. I looked over at the bleachers, where Kaelie was sitting, staring at something metallic in her lap. She hadn't changed into gym clothes, and seemed very intent on watching whatever was on her lap. I finished my laps, thinking: _Game time_.

I made my way across the track in her direction. I got about a quarter of the way before Coach started yelling at me. "Herondale! If you're done, you can go grab the volleyball's from the second storage room!"

I made my way over, like I was actually about to do what he asked, before lightly rolling my ankle over. "Ow! Dammit!" I cursed, making my face look like I was in pain.

"You okay? What'd you do?" Coach yelled.

"I think I rolled my ankle over. Can I go stretch it out, wouldn't want to sprain it." I gave him a look that said _I'm you're star sports player, and my dad donated almost all the money to pay for our tournaments_.

"Sure. I'll just have Verlac get the volleyball's." Coach laughed.

I smirked in Sebastian's direction. "Thanks!" I headed towards where the witch was sitting. I sat down close to her, but not too close, and started rolling my ankle left and right, 'stretching' it out.

"You're good at getting your way, you know that right?" she said, surprising me.

'Yeah, I'm the best at it." I got a better look at the metallic thing in her lap. It was a large, silver gilt-framed hand mirror. Huh, it was kind of weird for someone as un-obsessed with their looks as her to be carrying around. Actually, come to think of it, it was a weird thing for anyone to be carrying around. "What's that for?" I asked her, pointing to the mirror. I bit my cheek to keep myself from adding on: _It's kind of weird for someone as ugly as you to be carrying around a mirror. _

She quickly shoved it into her messenger bag which was, like the rest of her outfit, old and black. "How's your ankle?" she asked, neatly dodging my question.

"Oh, it's fine. I just needed an excuse to come over here and talk to you." I replied.

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Really? Why?"

"Well, I was thinking about what you said in the hallway and I decided that you're right."

She blinked a few times. "I'm _right_? About what?"

"About the way we run things around here. We judge everyone by their appearances, with the best looking people—like me— on top, and the not-so-good looking people—"

"By that, you mean me . . . ." she interjected.

I shrugged, as if to say _Your words, not mine_. "It's just the way the world works. My dad's a new anchor, and in his profession, if you lose your looks, you can guarantee that you'll probably lose your job."

"Does that seem fair to you?" she asked.

"I guess I've never really had to think about it. You can't help what you're born with," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. I fought to keep my voice even and posture relaxed. She was talking to me like I was five years old and had been caught taking the last cookie out of the cookie jar.

"Interesting," she said.

I gave her my signature smile, the one I gave girl's I like. I had to resist gagging, but I think I pulled the whole thing off pretty well. "You're interesting too, y'know."

"By _interesting_, I assume you mean _weird_?" she lifted an eyebrow quizzically. Damn, she reminded me of my ninth grade English teacher when she did that. Not a great memory.

"You can be weird in a good way, can't you? I had an uncle like that. He was the strangest guy I've ever met, but he was a . . . um, good person. He got killed by a bull in Spain," I said. My Uncle Andrew was actually a total creep who paid girls to pose for him so he could take their 'picture' for his 'successful' newspaper job, but the part about getting killed by a bull was true. He decided it would be fun to play Matador in an actual legit bull-fight.

" Okay. Good point." She closed her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. When she looked back at me, she was wearing a confused expression. "Is that what you came over here to tell me? That there is more than one version of weird?"

"What? No. I actually came over here to talk to you. I was thinking about what you said to me earlier, and I decided it would be . . . beneficial for me to expand my horizons a little. I know just about every person in this school, except for you." I moved in closer to her, holding my breath. "I'd like to get to know you better." I gave her a secretive little smile.

"_Really_? You're not just trying to trick me into doing something totally stupid?"

"I swear on the Angel that I'm not."

"Alright then. What do you want to know about me?" she asked.

_Why you've chosen _this_ school to attend. _"Oh, nothing really specific. I just wanted to talk to you, like I said."

"Boy's like you don't just want to talk. How's your ankle?"

She was already deciding my 'type'. "Oh, my ankle's fine. Like I've said, I just wanted to talk to you. Actually, I have a question for you." I leaned in closer, so that our noses were almost touching. I could feel her shallow breaths on my face. "Would you like to go to the Homecoming dance with me?"

She sucked in a surprised gasp. I moved my face back, smirking to myself. She was probably hyperventilating inside. "Yes. God, yes. I'd love to go with you." _Of course you do_.

***XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO***

SEPTEMBER 2008

A giggle sounded to my right. I turned my head slightly to see a group of girls, my age, standing in a clump by the lockers. Alec was saying something to me about his geography teacher being a complete loser, but I wasn't really listening. The one girl was so stunningly gorgeous I couldn`t take my eyes off her.

"Totally hot. Cutest guy in school. I swear to God, if he talked to me I'd faint!" one girl said.

"Ella, you'd faint no matter what guy was talking to you. He can't look that good," the girl that caught my eye said. She was definitely not from here. I'd have noticed her before if she was. She had pretty, tanned skin that made her look like she was from California, and dark wavy chocolate brown hair.

"Oh, Aline, you clearly haven't seen him yet then. I went to elementary school with him, and oh my God, is he ever hot." Ella gushed.

"What's his name?" the girl named Aline asked.

"Jace. Herondale. Isn't that the hottest name ever?" Ella looked like she was about to faint.

"I'll believe what you're saying when I see him." she said. I decided to make it their lucky day. One of the girl's with her, Leigh-Anne, was in my English class.

I walked over, leaving Alec ranting at a wall. It would be at least a minute before he panicked and realized that I had left. I walked up to Leigh-Anne and leaned against the wall.

"Hey, " I said. "Do you have the outline for that English assignment? I don't know what I did with mine."

Leigh-Anne blushed. "Yeah, I have a copy. I finished mine last night, so you can just have my sheet. It's in my locker. If you have a minute, I can go get it." The last sentence was kind of rushed.

I smirked. "Yeah, I have time. This is my lunch period. Alec wanted to go to Starbucks, but if it means not failing English, I can settle for Applebee's," I said.

Ella looked like she was about to faint. "I _love_ Applebee's," she sighed, batting her eyelashes at me.

I ignored her and turned my attention back to Leigh-Anne, who was telling me to stay put.

"So, who are you?" Aline asked.

I smiled at her, as sweetly as I could. "Jace Herondale, at your service. You're new, right? Well, if you ever need a tour guide, I'd be happy to help you."

Aline shot Ella a look. "Um, yeah, actually I'd love a tour, Jace. I actually got lost this morning walking to my math class, and I don't really want that to repeat this afternoon. I have this lunch, too, so maybe after we swing by Applebee's, you can give me a tour."

_Hook, line, and sinker_. "Sounds good. As soon as Leigh-Anne gets back, we'll head over. I have connections at Applebee's that can get us through to the front of the lines."

Aline giggled. "That sounds great, Jace."

MARCH 2011

I had just parked my Mercedes in the parking lot to my dad's expensive apartment. He had bought the penthouse suite, at the top of the building, which came with reserved parking.

My phone began ringing, blaring my ringtone. I checked the caller ID and saw Aline's name pop up. I knew what she was going to say, so I hit the _ignore_ button. She called twice more, which I also ignored. On the third ring, I figured that I had to answer because whatever she had to say was too important to leave on voicemail.

"_Jonathan Christopher Wayland_! Some _freak_ is walking around the school bragging to everyone about how _you_ asked _her_ to be your date for the dance!" she screamed at me.

I lifted the phone away from my ear and winced. They could use a replica of her screech to make the sound for a dog whistle. "Do you really think that I would ask some loser to a dance when I'm dating the hottest girl in school?" I asked.

"Then why the hell is she telling everyone that she's going with you?" Aline half-whined, half-shrieked.

"Honestly, Aline, I don't know. I can control a lot of things, but one thing I can't control is what every insane-asylum-escapee says about me."

There was a sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. "So you didn't ask her?"

"God no. What reason do I have to ask someone like her to a dance? It's not like there's a shortage of hot girls at Alicante." I dropped my voice to make it low and sensual. "Besides, everyone knows we're the perfect couple, babe."

She giggled into the phone and I heard someone yell in the background. _she must be at cheerleading practice_, I thought. "I thought so. So, I'll just tell everyone that she's hallucinating and needs to be sent back to whatever mental facility she came from."

_Damn it_. "No, don't!"

"Why not?" she whined, her voice suspicious.

_Think Herondale, and think fast_. "Because it's kind of funny. I mean, picture it. Some freak thinks she's going to the biggest dance of the year with your dance, when the rest of the school knows that it's completely impossible that I would ask someone like _her_, unless I developed a mental disorder over night."

"The only thing you could've possibly developed last night was an STD, and we both know I'm clean," she giggled. "I guess that's pretty funny."

"Maybe she'll even buy a fancy dress and spend a couple hundred dollars on a full make-over. Then I show up with you. She might cry. It'll be hilarious," I said, trying to be as convincing as possible.

"You're so evil. But I love you anyway," she blew a few kisses into the phone.

"So, what do you think, Aline?" I asked, not bothering to tell her that I loved her back. 'Cause, truth be told, I really didn't.

"You're right. It's classic. I'll keep our little plan a secret here. But, I'm warning you, if you actually tried to pull anything like that on me, I wouldn't be dumb enough to fall for it."

I wasn't too sure about that. What Alec said about the dye-job polluting her brain was probably true. Regardless, I answered her with an obedient: "Yes, Aline."

"Oh and Jace-y?" she said as I was about to hang up.

"What?" I asked.

"My dress is purple, strapless, and covers next to nothing," she whispered, like it was a secret only I was allowed to know. "So I'd really like a white orchid corsage. Make sure it isn't one of those cheap ones that fall apart as soon as you get them."

"Sure, Aline. I'll get you the most expensive one I can find." I hit the _end call_ button on my iPhone. One of the perks about dating Aline, you gave her what she wanted, and she'd do the same for you. And I didn't keep her around because I loved her.

_No need to worry, no need to call_

_Your secret is safe with me_

_The writing, the writing is on the wall_

_We had a good decision to make_

_Do we go or stay right now?_

_Are we doing this, or walking away?_

― _Uncontrollable_, Stereos

**So-o-o-o-o-o, that's it! Chapter two of _Beautiful Monster_! Please, pretty please, with Kit Kat sprinkled on top, review! I love your reviews! All reviews will earn a special little teaser/ excerpt of the next chapter! The title is still TBA, but i should know soon! If you review, you"ll find out! Okay, so let me know what you think. All opinions are good opinions to me! And please, please, please do not give me negative criticism over any grammatical errors, I know that there probably are a few that my spell-check didn't catch, especially my tendency to write 'adn' instead of 'and'! This story is obviously un-beta'd, so bear with any mistakes I've made. And hey, if you're interested in beta-ing this story, send me a PM.**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**

**P.S- for any readers of my other Mortal Instruments fics, I promise to try to update them ASAP! This story is just the one that I have the most inspiration for at the moment!**


	3. More

**Heyy! Thank you thank you for all your awesome reviews! I love them so-o-o-o-o-o-o much! You're all completely awesome and supportive and great! This is your HAPPY MARCH BREAK chapter. Yes, it's only Friday, but I didn't want to make you wait any longer for an update. I'm super sorry for anyone that I didn't send an excerpt to. I haven't been able to check my emails much because I've been so crazy-busy, but I promise that I have read all of your reviews! So, I'm not going to bore you with some super-long author's note that no one reads today, because I'm just that awesome. I'm in a great mood, and I'm very pleased with this chapter, so I hope you are too! OH . . . all mistakes are mine as this is not beta'd yet!**

**Disclaimer: I own nil. The characters belong to Cassie Clare and the general plot belongs to Alex Flinn (writer of _Beastly_- the book) and Daniel Barnz (_Beastly_ movie director). I own whatever twists I throw in and chocolate cupcakes. OH, and Usher owns the chapter song!**

**Enjoy!**

**Author's Note June 22, 2011: Hi! So if you saw my updates for chappies 1 and 2 you probably know why I'm reposting this one. If you didn't, well, I kinda screwed up the timeline further on in the story and needed to come back and fix some teeny-tiny details that although aren't too crucial to the plot, I'm sure I'd get chewed out by someone or get lots of questions about it. So, yeah. Enjoy the rewrites!**

3. More

_Watch me as I dance under the spotlight―_

_Listen to the people screaming out more and more,_

_'Coz I create the feeling that keep 'em coming back,_

_Yeah I create the feeling that keep 'em coming back,_

_So captivating when I get it on the floor._

― _More_, Usher

MARCH 2011

I heard footsteps before I heard the elevator door close. I was sitting in the living room in my dad's apartment watching sports highlights. I could've watched it in my room, but the plasma screen in the living room was bigger. I was actually surprised to hear my dad walking in, because most nights he was working or out until long after I had gone to bed. Plus, I'd spent the few nights at my girlfriend's house, not that my dad was knew about it.

He walked in the door and I greeted him with a friendly: "Hey Dad."

He made a throat-slitting motion with his index finger and walked into the kitchen. "Sorry Starkweather, someone was talking to me." I heard him say. That's when I clued in. I had forgotten about the new Bluetooth he bought for himself.

I heard the fridge open and close, most likely from my dad pulling out the leftovers of what the new maid, Dorothea, made for dinner. Sure enough, I heard him open and close the microwave.

"Hi, Jonathan. How was your day?" He was only talking to me because he had exactly three minutes to kill before the microwave was finished.

_It was good. Alec and I skipped school this afternoon and visited all the skanky bars in town. It was great, but I think I prefer what I get from Aline. I didn't think you'd mind me staying at her place. Or care. The only reason I came home tonight was to get a hold of your credit card_, I thought, wondering what his reaction would be if I said that.

What I really said was: "It was good. They posted the finalists for the Homecoming dance court and people are already betting on me to win."

"That's great, Jace." he said distractedly. He was looking down at his Blackberry, having taken the Bluetooth out of his ear somewhere between taking dinner out of the fridge and walking out to talk to me.

If I had said the other thing, would he have still had the same response? Highly likely. Sometimes I wondered if he even noticed when I left.

I wanted to keep this small shred of a conversation going, so I decided to fan the flames. "Has mom called lately?" I asked, knowing that was the one thing that got him talking.

My mom, Céline, left when I was seven because "there's someone better" for her out there. She ended up marrying a sports talent scout named Michael Wayland and moving across the country to Texas because aside from being the fattest state, they also have some of the best potential hockey talent in America. Apparently. I was still trying to figure that out.

"What did you say? Oh, your mom? No nothing. She's probably sitting in some shitty horse ranch eating a double Big Mac and getting fat." He looked at the kitchen gauging the time on the microwave. "Speaking of fat, they fired Amatis Graymark." Amatis was his co-anchor. So he had successfully turned our conversation back to his favourite subject―himself.

"Really? Why?" I asked, just trying to keep the conversation going.

"The official word is that it was her mistake with the Baywood scandal, but I personally think it's those last fifteen pounds she put on from being pregnant. If she just lost the fifteen pounds, they'd have kept her on. Or even better, if she just didn't have the baby in general. She's always complaining about how little sleep the baby lets her get. "

That made me think of my conversation with Kaelie earlier and what I said about my dad's job. I pushed the thoughts aside. It was just the way of the world. It's only human nature to want to look at someone beautiful.

"She's stupid," I agreed. I turned my gaze to the TV, trying to think of a way to make this whole conversation-thing less awkward. "The Yankees won their game today,' I informed him, watching the ESPN reporter interviewing the team captain.

Then the microwave beeped, and whatever conversation we were having slipped away.

"What was that Jace?" he glanced at the TV before beginning to make his way to the kitchen. "I have a lot of work to do, so don't do anything stupid."

_ It was nice talking to you too, Dad. Now I know why I prefer to stay at Aline's_.

MAY 2010

Her hair was red, that's really I remembered about her. I was walking down the hall while talking to Alec, and she was walking with her head down. She smashed right into me, causing her to drop all the books she was holding. Which was a lot. I swear that she was carrying her whole locker around with her.

"I am _so_ sorry! I didn't mean to crash into you," she looked up at me. "I―I . . . yeah . . . I'm sorry. It's j-just my locker . . . can't get the lock off . . . was sent to look for the janitor . . ." she stuttered.

I smirked at her stuttering. I had that effect on girls sometimes. This girl was pretty average looking, with bright red hair and emerald eyes. Her nose was spattered with freckles, and her cheeks were bright red. Her shirt was a boxy and green with the words: _Kiss me, I'm Irish_ on it. Her jeans were loose and faded, and her converse shoes were scuffed up, like she'd had them for a long time. Maybe she had.

One thing was certain, though. She was definitely a scholarship kid. There was something about the way people held themselves that told you whether they were here because their parents could afford the tuition or on a scholarship. Her situation looked like the latter.

"It's okay; you don't have to explain yourself to me. Everyone has days like that," I told her. _Wait, whoa, did I really just say that? What has gotten into me? On any other day I would've just laughed at her_, I thought.

"Yeah, I guess that I just have them more often than other people. I'm Clary, by the way." She stuck out her hand for me to shake.

I took it gingerly, and shook her hand. "Jace Herondale," I introduced myself. Alec was gawking at me, all the surprise I was feeling inside was plain for all to see on his face.

"Oh, I know who you are. Everyone does. I . . . I . . . umm . . . . Yeah, I gotta go. So, um, bye," with that Clary was gone, keeping her head low and dodging people in the hall.

"What the hell has gotten into you, man?" Alec asked.

I shrugged at him. "I don't know. Maybe it's the lack of sleep I've had in the last 48 hours affecting me."

MARCH 2011

The next day at school, I could see that Aline told everyone about us going together. Two girl's from my Physics class burst into tears when I walked by them, and the girl I used to sit next to in Functions tried to slap me.

When I go to the door, Alec joined me. "Aline Penhallow. Nice job," Alec congratulated me.

"Nice enough," I said nonchalantly.

"_Nice enough_," Alec put on a poor imitation of my voice. "That's crap, Jace, and you know it. She's like the hottest girl in school; I think she deserves more than a plain 'Nice enough'."

"Hmm, yeah. But you know, Alec, why would I settle for less than the absolute best? I need a girl who can keep up with my awesomeness, not drown in it," I reminded him.

Alec shook his head and was about to punch my shoulder when something, or someone, seemed to catch his eye. I followed his gaze to see where his sister, Isabelle, was tangled up in a passionate embrace with a dark haired boy.

"Asshole, get your face away from my sister's!" Alec ordered the boy.

"Alec! You asshat! Get out of my business!" Isabelle screeched. She was wearing a pair of glasses, probably the ones belonging to the dark haired boy.

"Sorry! It looked like he was eating you face!" Alec protested.

"We were just kissing Alec. Anyway, this is Simon Lewis. He's my date to the spring dance. So get a life, and let us get back to our activities." Isabelle ordered Alec.

"Its okay, Iz. I have to get to my first period class now, anyway." the boy named Simon said, attempting to disentangle him from Isabelle. She held him fast in a vice grip.

"No, Si. We'll go in a minute. Alec needs to learn that even though I'm a whole five minutes younger than him, I'm still capable of taking care of myself." Isabelle said, giving Alec a very pointed glare.

"Hi, Iz," I said, thinking that someone needed to lighten the mood.

"Oh, hey Jace. Sorry, I'd have said hi earlier, but Alec decided to interrupt my love-life. Do me a favour Herondale, and go buy a dog leash, or maybe a squirt bottle. That way, whenever he tries to interrupt me in my own business, you can either pull him back with the leash or squirt him with the bottle. He'd be like your own personal pet." Isabelle glared at Alec.

"Okay, sounds good. I've always wanted a dog. C'mon Alec, let's go to class. Then after, I can get you fitted for a nice studded dog-collar, like the ones you see on Pitbull's." I said jokingly, tapping Alec lightly on the shoulder.

Alec ignored me and leaned in closer to Simon. "If you get my sister pregnant, I will personally kill you," Alec said protectively.

"Whoa! Alec, shut up. We use protection! And what I chose to do with Simon is _totally_ my business, and therefore out of your jurisdiction. Leave. Like, now," Iz snarled at him. Alec backed off, his hands up in the international symbol for 'I surrender'.

I waved at Isabelle and Simon, and then focused on Alec."Dude, you're like an over-protective mother. Back off a little. Isabelle is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She's a black belt in karate, and the last guy who tried to kiss her without her consent ended up with a broken arm _and_ a concussion," I pointed out.

Alec sighed. "You're probably right."

I snorted. "_Probably_ right? No Alec, I am most _certainly_ right. Without a doubt."

"Shut the hell up." Alec said, his mood as black as a thundercloud.

Something caught my eye. Or should I say someone. "Hey, I gotta go do some damage control on the Goth girl. I need to make sure Aline didn't tell her anything. Cover for me?" I asked. Alec nodded, his expression disapproving.

I made my way over to where Kaelie was standing by her locker. I struck a casual pose against the wall. "Hi," she said, her eyes moving up my body, starting with my feet.

"Hi, so we're still good for next week right?" I asked her.

"Um, yeah. Why wouldn't we be?" she asked suspiciously.

"No reason. I just wanted to make sure. I haven't seen you since yesterday." I replied as nonchalantly as possible. "I was going to call you last night to try to find out some details, but I couldn't find your name in the phonebook."

Her face went a little red. "Um, yeah . . . that's probably because I'm new. Just moved here this year."

"Yeah, I figured. I'd have noticed you if you were here last year," I said.

She stuck her head in the locker. "Um, I have to tell you something. . . ." she said, sounding a little distressed. _Maybe her facelift appointment got cancelled and she's too embarrassed to admit that's why she can't come . . ._

"I-think-we-should-just-meet-up-at-the-dance!" The words tumbled out of her mouth. I was shocked; I was ready to have to make up some sob story about how I couldn't drive her there.

"Really? Most girls would want . . . like, a royal escort or something like that," I didn't want her to think that I had been lying about inviting her.

"Yeah, it's fine. This is going to sound incredibly strange, but my mom might not be too happy about me going to a dance with a . . . um . . . a boy," she lowered her head.

_As opposed to what? Another girl? A mountain lion?_

At least I didn't have to make up a story. "Okay, so I'll just buy your ticket and see you there."

She nodded and locked up her locker. "Okay, sounds good. See you there."

As she began walking away, I remembered something. _Gotta make this seem as realistically true as possible_. "Hey! Kaelie! Wait a sec! I'm pretty sure that I'm supposed to buy you a corsage. What colour's your dress?"

She stopped walking and turned around. "Oh, I haven't actually found a dress to wear yet. But it'll probably be black. That's sort of my signature colour. But a single white rose goes with everything, doesn't it? And white symbolizes purity, which is always a good thing."

_Sure, if you live in the Arctic Circle_. "Okay. So I'll see you at the dance."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Jace. It'll be a night to remember." She walked away.

***XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO***

The dance was on a Friday night. They always are, because the school books them far in advance, and the officials figure that most people are free on Fridays. Plus it gives us two days to recover from the after-parties.

Alicante seems to never have two dances at the same place. The last year's big dance, the Spring Semi-formal was held at the St. Regis. And now this one was being held at the Plaza. The St. Regis was fun, especially when Aline and I had the ingenious idea to rent ourselves a room. Yeah, that was a good night.

Anyway, it was about an hour before I had to pick up Aline. I was walking around the penthouse in my tux, rented courtesy of my father, and talking to Alec on my cell. He had gotten 'sick' yesterday. That was total bullshit, but I'm sure Alec had some legitimate reason behind his 'sickness'. He always claimed to be sick right before a big dance. But, to each his own.

"Watch Izzy for me, will ya?" Alec asked as I was rifling through the Sub-Zero. I was trying to find the corsage box that the maid, Dorothea, had showed me yesterday.

"For the millionth time, no. I'm not playing babysitter," I told Alec.

I heard him give a frustrated sigh. "I swear to God, Jace—"

"Saint Alec is about to swear? Call the press!"

"Shut up. I don't trust Simon. He looks like the kind of boy who would come over to your house and burn it down," Alec said through his teeth.

"No, he doesn't. While you were home 'sick' yesterday Aline and I went out for lunch with them. Simon bought us all lunch, and be didn't even try to touch your sister. _She_ was all over _him_." Alec liked to think that his sister wasn't the biggest tease known to man.

"It's all an act. He acts all nice and respectful while he's around other people, and then _BAM!_ When he and Izzy are alone, he's all abusive and forceful! Iz came home the other day with this massive bruise on her neck . . . and I swear it was from his fist!" Alec started freaking out.

"Yeah, Alec that's called a—"

"I know what it's called Jace!" Alec seethed.

"Whoa, Alec, calm down, okay?" To myself I muttered: "Where the hell is that corsage?"

Alec stopped his rant. "Wha―what did you say?"

"Um, 'where the hell is that corsage'? The maid put it in here yesterday and oh—never mind I think I found it." I took a look at the box and to my horror, saw that it wasn't the orchid I had been shown yesterday. "Alec, I gotta go. Feel better."

"Wait! So you'll―" I hung up before he could ask me to babysit Isabelle again.

I slipped my iPhone into my pocket. "Dorothea!" I called. Stupid maid must've decided to take the orchid back. She switched it for a crappy white rose.

"I in laundry room, washing shorts!" the heavy accent was hard to decipher.

I walked down t the laundry room and found her throwing laundry in the washing machine. "Where the hell is the orchid you showed me yesterday?" I asked.

She gave me a confused look. "Oh, other flower. I return today to florist, c_hico_. Flower starting to wilt. This better, you see."

"Hah, no. You probably took it back to whatever two-sent motel you're staying at and are pretending that some guy gave it to you. You wasted my money on this piece of crap?" I asked. It was my dad's money, but she wouldn't realize that.

"Rose beautiful. It symbolize love and life. You like love and life, Mr. Jace?" she was babbling nonsense.

"Sure, Dorothea. But you know what I like better?" I asked, making my voice as sweet as possible.

She looked up from the laundry. "What, Mr. Jace?"

"I like it when the maid gets me what I want instead of a piece of shit. I said I wanted an orchid. That's only two syllables. Or. Chid. I your language they call it an_orquídea_, right?" My father had insisted I learn as many languages as I could.

"Yes, Mr. Jace. You are right. But a _rosa_, that is most beautiful flower of all. Orchid too proud, too vain. It like girl who spend many hours in front of mirror, changing face million of times. Could hide a snake," she said slowly, like I was a two-year-old she was trying to teach a lesson to.

"I don't care about your damn interpretations of flowers. What next, you're going to make me tea and try to read my tea leaves? You're a _maid_ not a cheap party psychic. I think this flower's ugly. So you have an hour to fix this. Go call a cab and run to the florist shop."

Dorothea shook her head, her greying hair coming out of its thick braid. "Florist closed. I change orchid for rose right before it close. Mr. Jace, I pity you. You no see _belleza_ of _rosa_. It sad."

"No, what's sad is that you think you have the right to pity _me_. You should be scared of me. I can have you deported with the snap of my fingers. _Usted no__tiene__derecho__a__hablar decompadecerme_." I said the last part in Spanish, trying to hit the point home.

She took the rose from me and cradled it. Like it was precious little baby. I rolled my eyes and knocked it out of her hands. "You take rose in end, you know. Rose becomes favourite. You see, Mr. Jace. I promise."

I stuck my hands in my pockets and looked at the rose, now in a cracked box on the floor. Taking the corsage meant admitting that I would have to give it to Aline, but I didn't like the thought of Dorothea taking it home and thinking that I was giving it to her. So I picked it up adn stuck it in my pocket, hoping that Aline would be in a good mood.

I was about half-way up the stairs when, in complete, perfect English, Dorothea said: "I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Jace. I'm afraid for you."

I rolled my eyes and left the room.

***XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO***

Aline was pissed. And that's an understatement. I tried to give her the corsage and she looked like she wanted to punch me.

"What the hell is this?" she screeched upon seeing it.

"It's a rose, Aline. I know it's not the orchid you wanted but, come on. You have to admit, it is kind of pretty," I said, not really believing that myself.

"It's pretty cheap," she said. She tossed her freshly dyed blonde hair, the curls bouncing around until the settled again. She readjusted her strapless dress, repositioning it to show more skin.

"Look, I bought you a really expensive orchid corsage the other day—yes, I drove to the store myself and chose it―but the maid decided to return it and buy this rose today. So it's not my fault."

"Whatever, Jace. Just buy me something nice this weekend to make up for it. Our twenty-second month anniversary is on Monday." Just then Aline's mom came down the stairs, a professional photography camera in her hand.

"Hey kids, I just want to take a few pictures. I swear it'll only take a minute," Mrs. Penhallow said.

Aline said, "_Mom_," at the same time as I said: "Fine, Jia."

So Jia Penhallow put us through a miniature photo shoot, instructing me to stand on Aline's left, on her right, slightly behind her. Mrs. Penhallow was a professional photographer for the New York Times, so she knew what she was doing.

Half an hour later, Aline and I were sitting in the limo, music blasting. She had her leg across my lap and our hands were entwined. This wasn't as bad as I thought. It's not like I was getting action or anything, but judging by how pissed she was before, she wasn't being unreasonable.

When we got to the dance, Aline ran inside and had a mini-reunion with her 'close' friends. I waited in line to hand in the tickets. Absent-mindedly, I handed the girl at the booth my tickets.

"Hey," she said. I looked at her, recognizing her instantly. She was the red-head I bumped into in the hallway once.

"Oh, hi. You're . . . . Clary, right?" I asked her.

"Yeah. I'm surprised you remembered. I guess being run into in the hallway is pretty memorable," she joked. She was wearing a simple emerald green bubble dress and her hair was left in its unruly curls. It was actually a good look on her.

"Incredibly," I told her. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Aline still hugging her friends and commenting on their hair, dresses, and shoes.

"That's a really pretty rose," Clary said, pointing at the box I was still holding.

"You think so? My girlfriend won't wear it, so you can have it if you want." I said, holding it out to her.

"Thanks. I don't see why she won't wear it, it's gorgeous. Anyway, you're free to go in. Have a good night Jace." Clary said.

"You too," I said reflexively. I walked back over to Aline just in time to see Kaelie walk into the Plaza. She looked completely out of place there. She was wearing a ball gown-style dress that looked like it had been worn in the Middle Ages. It wasn't the type you saw in costume catalogues, where the bodice was fitted and strapless, it was a poufy-sleeved, floor-length, high neck black and green dress.

I made a point of kissing Aline's ear to get her attention. Aline looked at me and I cast a glance in Kaelie's direction. Aline nodded and began to kiss me. "I love you so much, Jace." Aline purred, her lips on my ear.

I smirked at Kaelie and began kissing up Aline's neck. "You're such a great kisser, babe," I said loudly.

Aline's mouth latched onto mine and people moved aside, giving Kaelie a full view of our Public Display of Affection. Kaelie walked over, looking murderous.

"Why isn't she crying?" Aline whispered. I shrugged and Aline smiled wickedly. She took my hand and placed on the small of her back. Her hands twined themselves in my hair and I pulled her closer.

"Aline, stop for a second. I need a bit of air, and then we can keep going," I said. That wasn't true. I could hold my breath for two minutes without feeling lightheaded and a little kissing wasn't likely to tire me out. But the look Kaelie was giving me was making me uncomfortable.

"You really did it, Jace." Kaelie said.

"What did I do?" I asked in a snarky tone.

"Jace-y, look at her. She looks hilarious. You have to find Maia and have her take a picture for the 'What Not to Wear' section of the yearbook. This is just _precious_," Aline snickered.

"Yeah, seriously, what did you do, steal that from a museum display?" I asked. "It looks dusty and old enough."

"It belonged to my grandmother," Kaelie stated. Her voice was completely calm and steady.

"Well, around here, people buy_ new_ dresses," I said, laughing. Aline's laughter joined mine as she linked arms with me.

"So you're really doing this. You invited me when you had another date, just to make me look like an idiot. A desperate idiot." Kaelie said, sounding disbelieving.

Aline started laughing again. "You really thought he would invite you? My God, you're stupider than you look."

"No, I never really believed it. But I didn't think you'd make my decision so easy, Jace." Kaelie looked like she was either planning on murdering me or was undressing me with her eyes. At this point in time, both options were viable.

"What decision?" I asked, confused by her statement.

"You'll see, Jace. You'll see." With that, Kaelie turned on her heel and left.

I barely had time to figure out what she meant when the principal of Alicante called for our attention. They were going to name the Prince and Princess.

"This year's Homecoming Dance Prince is . . . ." there was a dramatic pause, "JACE HERONDALE! Mr. Herondale, if you could please come up on the stage!"

I walked up, waving as I went. Last year's prince Raphael placed the crown on my head, and everyone cheered.

"And you princess is . . . . Aline Penhallow!" Aline gave the crowd a knowing smile as she walked up. She was expecting to win this.

The former princess, Tessa Gray, gave Aline her tiara. A slow song began playing and I crossed the stage to dance with Aline.

I couldn't focus on the dance right now, though. All I could hear was Kaelie saying _'You'll see'_. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

"Jace, are you okay? You look a little feverish," Aline said in a pouty voice.

I did? I sure felt like I had a fever. "I want to finish having this dance with my princess, and after I'm going to go get some fresh air by the fountain. You can stay here, I shouldn't be very long." I whispered back.

"Okay, Jace. Hopefully you're not coming down with something," as she said this, the song ended.

I made my way outside, leaning over the ornate fountain. The area was secluded and dark, perfect for kissing in private. No one had found that out yet, so I was alone. I looked at my reflection in the water. Except for my slightly flushed cheeks, I looked fine. My blond hair looked like Aline has been messing it up, but that wasn't a surprise. MY eyes were the same liquid gold colour they usually were. I took a few deep breaths trying to calm my frantically beating heart.

"Hello, Jace," a voice said. I spun around, just in time to see a dark figure emerge from behind the shrubbery.

"Who are you?" I called out.

The figure came closer. It was a girl, one with piercing green eyes. She was wearing a simple black strapless slip dress that fit her like a glove. She was absolutely gorgeous. As she came into the moonlight I could see that her hair was the same shade of green as her eyes. I stumbled backwards, almost falling into the fountain. Luckily, I was able to steady myself before I fell in.

"Kaelie?" I said disbelievingly.

"The one and only, Jace. Recognise me?" she asked, a sly smirk on her face.

"Um, no. Not really. God, if I knew you looked this hot I'd have taken you to the dance instead of Aline," I told her.

"Would you? Because I'm hotter than her? Is that really all you care about? Looks?"

"It's not all I care about."

"But it's one of the factors you take into consideration when choosing a date from a dance."

"_One_ but not the only."

She laughed. "Don't play that game with me, Herondale. I don't want anything from you. You see, I'm not like you. I'm not . . . human. I don't have the same wants and needs as your kind." Her hair began to change colours and was lifted up by an imaginary wind.

So she was a witch. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing, Jace. I'm here to give you your punishment. Poetic justice. That sort of thing. I guess you could call it karma, too. What goes around comes around. If you don't follow the dharma, karma will catch up with you. You're a horrible person. You've barely done anything nice for anyone in your life. Actually, you've only been kind to one person. Clary Morgenstern. The girl you gave the rose to. So thanks to her, I'm giving you a chance." Kaelie said.

"A chance to do what?" I shouted, hoping someone would hear me.

"Don't bother. No one even knows that you're gone. Well, except Aline, but she doesn't really care." Kaelie pouted at me. Then she grabbed my arm, her blood red finger nails drawing blood. A tingling spread up my arms, and when I looked in the fountain, I could see tattoos like vines forming.

Kaelie took two of her fingers and forced my head to turn towards her. "Poor Aline won't be able to run her hands through your hair anymore, Jace. What a pity. Of course she won't want to kiss your face either." Kaelie held up a lock of my hair. I whipped my head around to look in the fountain. Locks of my hair were floating on the surface.

_Oh God_. I saw my face and my first thought was that I was dreaming. It was nightmare. The vines on my arms seemed to have spread up my neck and onto my face. Deep scars lined my face, and where my eyebrows had been were words tattooed on.

"What did you do?" I asked, my voice shaking uncontrollably.

"I made you as hideous outside as you are inside, Jace. You want your old face back? Suck it up. You can have it back, if you find someone to love you. Thanks to Clary, you've bought yourself a year. But that's it. She has to love you, despite your looks, and you have to love her back. The love must be proved with a kiss. You have one year. Good luck." Kaelie disappeared.

I collapsed onto my hands and knees, staring at my reflection in the mirror fountain. I splashed some water on my face, thinking: _What have I done? What do I do? I can't go back into the dance like this_. My best option: to go home.

So I got up and started running.

_Know y'all been patiently waiting, I know you need me, I can feel it,__  
__I'm a beast, I'm an animal, I'm that monster in the mirror,__  
__The headliner, finisher, I'm the closer, winner.__  
__Best when under pressure one second's left I show up._

— _More_, Usher

**Wow I think that was my longest chapter yet. Please tell me what you think! Did you like that Clary was in this chapter? Do you think that Alec was a little OOC? Ooh, and don't worry, we'll see Magnus soon. I have a special spot for him. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Oh and if you have any suggestions for chapters songs, I'm completely open. You can put the suggestions in your reviews.**

**This time, I swear that I'll give out teasers. I promise.**

**Kay, so without further ado,**

**REVIEW!**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**

**P.S TRANSLATIONSSSSSSSSS!**

*c_hico_ : boy

*_orquídea_ : orchid

*_rosa_ : rose

*_belleza_ : beauty

*_Usted no __tiene __derecho __a __hablar conmigo acerca de piedad _: You have no right to talk to me about pity

**P.P.S- All translations are courtesy of GOOGLE TRANSLATE! I DO NOT SPEAK A WORD OF SPANISH**


	4. Dead End Countdown

**Heyy! I am so so so sorry that it's been like for-_ever_ since I've updated! I have been so incredibly busy! School is crazy and all my teachers have decided to give me assignments on the same days. So, yeah. I had my sixteenth birthday two weeks ago, which sort of added to the insane craziness.I have a beta now, its the lovely unscenced! So everyone please send her big thanks and praises for her awesome beta-ing skills! Enjoy the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I own my ideas. All characters and general plot lines belong to their respective owners.**

4. Dead End Countdown

_Exiled and pushed away, lost in time, always I'll be_

_This bitter person who's stuck right here, disillusioned_

_Don't stand by if you don't like what you see_

_So unsatisfied, no, I won't take what you say to me_

—_Dead End Countdown_, The New Cities

Everyone knows the story. Selfish, spoiled brat gets transformed into a hideous monster and everyone hates him, then they all come after him with pitchforks . . . Nothing your kindergarten teacher never read to you. But they never told you how the boy felt. How everything he ever worked towards got thrown down the drain, how all his friends just . . . disappeared. How his parents rejected him, threw him away like trash. They don't prepare you. Maybe—just maybe—if I knew those details, I'd have thought twice about what I did. Okay, well, probably not. But at least I'd have been prepared.

Picture this: A boy, seventeen years of age, a junior in high school, has the world wrapped around his finger. He has colleges and universities fighting for him to accept their offers. He has the most popular girl in school on his arm. He makes a few wrong moves—picks on kids while he's in elementary school, humiliates them when they're in middle school, ignores them and casually ruins their lives in his early years of high school, but he wasn't a bad person. Lately, though, his record's been clean, until the witch comes into play that is.

She makes him feel like crap, reminding him of what a mess he was when his mom first left. It wasn't as if he initiated it just out of boredom. He had to get back at her; of course, it's just the way of the world. What goes around comes around and all that, that's just the way it is.

So he invites her to the biggest dance of the year, knowing full well that he already has a date. It's a classic, sure-fire move. Absolutely fool proof. He sets it up, acts like he's serious and into her; but really, every time the witch looks at him he feels physically sick. Then, his maid screws up and returns the corsage he bought for his girlfriend and replaces it with a cheap-ass rose, she would sure be happy with that. He brings the rose anyway and tries to give it to his girlfriend, but she hates it and accuses _him_ of screwing up. He ignores the scolding and promises to get her a big present for their twenty-two month anniversary. She accepts and they go to the dance. Then, the witch shows up. She finally realises she's been played and she ruins his life by casting a spell. A horrible headache forces the boy to go get some air. That's when the witch comes out and ruins everything. She makes him hideous, a monster, saying that he has a year to find someone to love him and prove it with a kiss. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and runs.

Everyone knows how it ends. The villagers, or in this case New Yorkers, come after him with pitchforks—cameras— and torches—the ability to lock him up and use him as a circus attraction. But no one knows the middle, how the story gets from Point A to Point B. And trust me; it's not a fun ride, but I still had to take it.

MARCH 2011

I ran home, keeping my head low. Twice I almost got run over, but I didn't care. Getting run over was a risk I'd have to take. I couldn't go back into the dance, not looking like this. My dad's apartment was only a few blocks from the Plaza, but the run felt like a marathon. The lights were too bright, sounds too loud, and there were too many people outside, too many chances for someone to see me.

By the time I got to my dad's apartment, the lights were all off. _Dorothea must've gone home already_, I realized.

That was sheer luck. I hadn't even thought about her. But, with that issue settled, along with the fact that my dad wasn't likely to get home until much later, I felt a spark of hope. Maybe this would all blow over by tomorrow and I could go to Tiffany's and get Aline the biggest pure diamond in the store and apologise for everything. Maybe it would all be okay. I had a sinking suspicion that my tentative 'maybe' would turn into a definite 'no'.

I took the stairs up to the penthouse two at a time. That was the worst part. Thirty flights of brightly lit stairs. The good part was that no one ever took the stairs, what with the elevator being so much more convenient.

The stairs led right up into a little hallway that had two doors―the one to my dad's apartment, and one to the storage closet. I unlocked the door, fumbling a little with the key. _Stupid lock_.

Finally, I got it open.

I instantly locked the door behind me, briefly contemplating pushing the futon behind the door to enable anyone from getting in. That was until I came to my senses and remembered that the door opens towards the outside, and all the futon would do was convince my dad that I was going insane. Who knows, maybe I was?

I needed air, clean, fresh air. The walls of the apartment were closing in on me and making me feel claustrophobic. Huh, me claustrophobic. Who knew?

I stumbled out onto the balcony, holding onto the railing for support. I looked down at the swirl of lights that was New York City. I was overcome by a strong feeling of vertigo and I dropped to the floor. I clutched my head in my hands, fingers involuntarily running over the scars and silver-y vein-like thing that curled over my nose. God, how did I get here?

"Aren't you the sexiest thing known to man," a voice said. I looked up, removing my hands from my face.

"What the hell do you want, witch? I think you've done enough damage here. I'm ruined. Are you happy now?" I asked viciously, looking up into the face I now knew to hate.

She laughed. It was a short laugh, one that was usually used for sarcastic purposes. "I came to offer help, Jace. If I were you, I'd be holding my tongue. That's what got you into this mess, isn't it?"

"Your bitchiness is what got me into this mess, isn't it?" I asked, mimicking her voice.

"Who peed in your cocktail? Hmm, maybe that's why they call it 'spiked'. Huh."

"Are you here to rub it in, or are you actually going to offer some sort of help? If you're just going to stand there, I'll call the police," I threatened, desperately hoping it wouldn't come to that.

She called me on my bluff. "You wouldn't. You're too ashamed of how you look at the moment. You know what, Jace Herondale? I have three words for you: _Embrace_. _The_. _Suck_. Sound familiar? I'm pretty sure that's what you told a few, well all, of your victims after you finished ruining their lives. Well, that truly makes this moment poetically just." I just glared at her. "Whoa, learn a little patience, will you? I am going to offer you help. Here's the first," she said, grabbing my arm, the one with the tree tattooed on. She ran her long nails along the shape, leaving a tingling feeling behind.

"There!" she proclaimed, allowing me to see my arm. The tree was still there, much to my disappointment, and along with that there were little silver-white roses sketched on. She touched the skin and the roses curled in on themselves, shrinking until they disappeared. "When the roses grow back, your year will be up. Think of that as a sort of hourglass. My second form of help for you is this." She produced a silver gilt-framed mirror from her unbelievably tight slip dress. She handed it to me. "This mirror is magic. It can show you anyone in the world. It may be useful for you. That's all. Good luck, Jace. While you're not my favourite person in the world, I'm not exactly rooting for you to screw up." With that, she disappeared, leaving me sitting alone on the balcony.

I crawled inside and into my bedroom, taking my dress shirt off. The vines were there too, decorating my arms and chest, the sight of them offensive. I threw on a t-shirt and hoodie to hide them again and I then proceeded to take my damned dress pants off, throwing on a pair of sweatpants. Comfortable clothing.

_Maybe a little TV will take my mind off it_, I thought. My dad wasn't likely to be home for a while, and the sooner he found out about this curse, the better. He knew doctors, plastic surgeons who could help. I didn't, not even for a second, believe in the witch's 'second chance'. It was bullshit in my opinion.

I turned on the TV to the sports channel, watching the sports highlights. That's what was usually on. My dad only liked watching the news when it was a replay of one of his segments. He liked to watch himself on TV; apparently it helped him plan his segments better. I think it just helped his easily inflated ego.

I think I fell asleep for a few hours, because I woke up to the sound of the door opening. "Jonathan? Are you home?" My father called.

"Dad, I'm here. Just—don't turn on the light, okay?" I called softly.

"What the hell, Jonathan? Of course I'm going to turn on the lights. You're not doing anything with Aline on my couch, right? You know how difficult it is to get certain scents out of that couch," he said. I should have known he couldn't just trust me, and that's the first conclusion he'd jump to.

"No, dad it's just me here. I got a headache and left the dance early," I told him. _Don't turn on the light, don't turn on the light_, I chanted, hoping that would make it happen.

"Well then, there's no reason why I can't turn the light on." He came into my view and put his hand on the light switch, flicking the light on and I jumped up, remembering the mirror behind me.

"Dad, don't—don't come any closer," I warned him, my back on the mirror and my face drawn into my hood.

"Are you high on something, Jonathan? I thought I raised you better than that. Stop this bullshit act right now," a panicked tone entered his voice. He took a step closer, looking at the mirror. I jabbed my elbow at the mirror, shattering it.

"What the hell did you just do, son?" my father demanded, enraged. He reached for my hood, and I panicked. He had me cornered between the couch and a wall.

"Dad—dad, it's not what you think. Just don't touch me. _Please_." I _never_ said 'please' to him, or anyone, before.

"Cut the crap, son. I want to see your face." Before I could react, my father pulled my hood off. He dropped his Blackberry when the light hit my face.

"Dad. Don't freak. It's me; it's your son, Jace. Jonathan Christopher Herondale," I said.

"What the hell, Jonathan. Is this some kind of joke? A ploy to make me feel guilty for all the time I haven't spent with you?" he asked, angry.

"No—no. I swear to God, I'm not bullshitting you! This is real. I—I don't know how it happened. I had a headache, so I came home from the dance, and I fell asleep here on the couch and when I woke up . . . You've got to believe me!" I said. The panicked tone in my voice was amplified. I was shaking hard.

My dad put the back of his hand to his forward, as if he was checking his temperature. "I don't see any other choice, Jonathan. I'm going to fix this, I swear. But not now. I'm clearly not thinking straight. Let me try to settle this in the morning. Maybe we're both hallucinating. Go get some sleep, son, I'm going to do the same."

When I woke up, nothing had changed. The witch's spell was still in place. I was half-hoping that it was just a migraine-induced hallucination, but I was clearly wrong. I looked in the mirror the second I woke up, and I made a point of smashing it.

Aside from my appearance, everything else was completely normal. My dad was gone, and the maid was folding laundry. He left me a note today, though. That was new. It was probably some excuse about work being too important to miss today and how he couldn't be bothered to help me.

I was wrong, which was actually kind of nice. It made me feel guilty in a good way about thinking that my father only cared about himself. If there's such this as a 'good' guilty feeling.

_Jonathan_, the note began. I noticed that it was handwritten, not typed up by his secretary. _I know I said that we would find someone to fix this together today, but then I remembered that the station has contacts with many doctors and surgeons who may be able to help. I'll be home by noon, hopefully. Don't worry; I'm going to fix this._ It was probably the longest note he ever wrote to me. Usually he just sent a text saying **Have 2 work late, u choose dinner**.

I looked at the clock, it was ten thirty. To a normal person, noon was twelve o'clock. But to my dad, noon meant two o'clock. Or two thirty, whatever was more convenient. So I decided that I would wait. I walked down the hall to my room, sidestepping the broken mirror. Dorothea was sure to throw a fit when she saw the mess she'd have to clean up.

Just as I sat on my bed, my cell phone rang. _Oh, what the hell. One phone conversation won't hurt_.

"Hello?" I answered, not bothering to check the Caller ID.

"It's Alec. Are you okay?" Of course it was Mother Alec. He was probably going to ask for a play-by-play of Isabelle's evening with Simon.

"I'm f—" I cut myself off. If I said I was fine, they'd suspect something when I didn't go to school on Monday. I could use the 'I'm not feeling well' excuse as a cover story. After all, there was no way in hell that I was going back to Alicante as a freak. "Actually, I'm under quarantine. It looks like I've caught something. I left the dance early because I had a headache, and when I got home I fainted and spent the night on the living room floor. I just got back from the doctors. He says that I have . . . mono. Yeah, and I'm really contagious right now." _Mono, good thinking_.

"Oh, you poor thing. I bet you got it from Aline. Actually, I hope you got it from Aline. Oh, God, what if I catch it! You know how my allergies make all illnesses ten times worse!" Alec fretted.

"Alec, you do know that mono is spread by skin contact, right? That's why they call it the 'kissing disease'. I know that you want to kiss me, Alec, but you can't catch mono by _wanting_ to kiss someone. It comes from the actual act," I said.

"Oh. _Oh_. OH! No—no I don't want to kiss you! Why would you even suggest something like that?" Alec said defensively.

"Alec, I'm joking. God, I'm the one with the fever here, not you," I added in a cough for good measure.

"Oh—okay. I'm going to let you go. Make sure to eat lots of _Campbell_'s Chicken Noodle Soup. It's a miracle in a can. Or a packet. Depends on how you buy it. Okay, hanging up now. Bye!" I heard Alec click off, and I put my phone down. With luck, Alec would spread that I had mono around and no one would think anything was weird about my disappearance.

**Two o'clock.**

**Two thirty.**

**Three o'clock.**

**Three twenty-five.**

He was late. He was _very_ late. Late even for him. It was three thirty. No call, no 'I'm running late' text. Nothing. Luckily, while I was waiting for him to come home, I thought up a Plan B. Unluckily, it involved Aline. Who was not likely to be happy, seeing as I had ditched her at the dance.

"_Where have you been? The second I see you, I am going to kill you. How dare _you_leave _me_to find my own way home from the dance!_" Aline screeched.

_Calm her down_. "I'm at home. I left the dance early because I wasn't feeling well. I've been home sick. But I'm feeling better now. Do you want to come over? My dad's on the news, so we'd have the place to ourselves for a bit. I can give you your anniversary present early."

She giggled. "Sure. I'm shopping with Isabelle and Maia right now, but I can be at your house in half an hour."

_Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you_. "That sounds great. By the way Aline, I thought I'd let you know: I love you." I said the three words that Aline was always wanting to hear.

She giggled again. "I love you too, Jace. You never said it first before. I guess our anniversary must be really important to you."

_Not really_. "Definitely. So I'll see you in half an hour?"

"For sure. Bye!"

Just as I hung up, I slapped my palm to my forehead. _Idiot! You don't even have a present for her!_ Clearly I didn't think that through very well. I had been hoping to avoid Dorothea, but it looked like that wasn't going to be possible.

I sighed and opened my bedroom door. I could hear humming coming from in the kitchen, so I went in that direction. I had no idea what she did all day—I tried my best to spend as little time in the apartment as I could. But I guess cleaning and cooking were two of her main chores.

I found her in the kitchen. She was scrubbing the dishes that she had probably used to make my dad's breakfast this morning.

When I knocked, her head shot up. "Hello? Mr Jace? Is you?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, Dorothea, I need you to go get me a necklace. If I show you the picture, can you go run over to _Tiffany_'s and buy it for me?" I asked, still behind the corner.

"Yes, I can. You print picture and I bring to store counter. I get order right this time." she promised.

"Good, back in a second," I said, rushing back down the hall to print off the picture that Aline had sent me a few weeks ago in anticipation for our anniversary. This was working out better than I thought. Maybe the necklace would even put Aline in a good mood. Yes, that's called bribery, but no, I didn't really care.

The necklace was a gold chain with a pendant composed of three hearts. One was white gold, another was yellow gold, and the third was rose gold. It was expensive, but then again, I wasn't the one actually paying for it. I had to admit that it was very pretty looking. I quickly printed the picture. That was torture. I was so pressed for time that the printer seemed to take hours to print the picture. The way my luck was going, I was waiting for it to tell me that I was low on ink. Surprisingly, it didn't.

Forgetting about my whole the-maid-will-never-see-me-like-this thing, I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, almost bowling into her.

"Mr Jace? You okay? You no look good," Dorothea stuttered, taking the picture from me. "Oh, this very lovely. Your friend will like." She stared at the picture, seemingly mesmerized by the three hearts.

"Yeah, I know, it's gorgeous. Just, go get it for me. She'll be here in less than half an hour," I said, pulling my hood up.

"_Sí, lo haré_."

"_Gracias_," I whispered under my breath. Once she was out the door, I sunk down in one of the couches and turned the TV on to the news. My dad's face appeared on the screen, along with a picture of a boy—no older than my age―covered in glitter and leaning against a rack of clothing.

"Our next story is about a boy named Magnus Bane, who is New York City's newest prodigy. The seventeen-year-old boy recently put of advertisements for his own fashion show, happening next weekend. The _New York Times_ is calling this an event you won't want to miss. We will be back after the break with Lilia Seelie interviewing Mr Bane." My father's face disappeared and was replaced by a commercial for _Skittles_, '_Taste the rainbow_'.

I pointed the remote at the TV, hitting the _off_ button. _Of course_, I thought,_he can't help me because he's too busy talking about sparkly child prodigies. Typical Dad_.

JANUARY 1999

A snow storm raged outside. Mom and I were huddled together on a couch in the living room with Mai, my nanny, on the couch across from us. Mai usually left as soon as my mom got home, but the conditions outside caused buses to be cancelled and Mom thought it would be easier if Mai just stayed overnight. "We can get some mother-nanny bonding time in," she claimed.

The night started off okay. We made pizzas from scratch―Mom even cooked _bacon_ for me to put on mine—and Mai showed Mom how to make the _best_ chocolate fudge volcano cupcakes. Dad called at around five to tell Mom that he would be working late, which was normal. He was never home when I really wanted him to be.

"It's okay, Jace. Your dad is a very important man, and sometimes being that important is a big job. He needs to work extra to get all of his important stuff done," Mom assured me, squeezing my shoulders.

"Yes, Jace. Your dad will soon be here. I am sure that they won't make him stay too late, especially with this snow storm," Mai chimed in.

We watched hockey for an hour, until Mom decided that the game was getting boring. The Rangers were winning five nothing anyway, so she was pretty confident that they were going to win. I said that was okay, hoping that Mom would let me watch Batman. She didn't. Mom and Mai decided to watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ and _Dirty Dancing_.

I retreated to my bedroom about ten minutes into _Dirty Dancing_. I couldn't figure out why everyone was calling the girl 'Baby'. She was clearly over sixteen years old—definitely not a _baby_. They didn't even notice me leaving, Mom was gushing to Mai about how 'hot Patrick Swayze was' and Mai was talking about how she got to meet the dance choreo -something when she was a competitive dancer. Mai told me that she was born in Canada (her parents moved there from China) and moved to New York for dance, until she tore a ligament, whatever that is, in her leg and wasn't able to get back into dancing. She was only a nanny so she could make enough money to go to university. I didn't understand why we couldn't just give Mai the money, we had enough.

I sat in my bedroom with the door slightly open. I was sitting as far from my window as possible and surrounded by pillows. The last time Alec came over for a sleepover we made a fort just like this one. I used to have dreams about Dad making one with me, but I knew that was all it was―a dream. I listened to all the other boys at school talk about how much fun they have with their dad's and how awesome it is. I thought it seemed wrong that my dad was more important than all of theirs, and yet we never did cool stuff together. Maybe, if he'd been home, I would be in the living room watching Batman instead of sitting alone in a pillow fort while Mom watched people sing about having the time of their life, and never feeling that way before.

MARCH 2011

Everything was set.

After Dorothea got back from Tiffany's―with the _right_ necklace, I might add—I wrapped it up in silver wrapping paper and placed it under my pillow. I set candles up around the room to make the mood more 'romantic'. She made me watch _Valentine's Day_ with her when it first came out in theatres—we went on Valentine's Day, ironic right? She liked the part where the guy went to the girl's house and set up her room so they could do the deed and her mom walked in on him naked with his guitar. "It's so sweet that he would do all of that for her," Aline claimed.

So, there I was, guitar sitting on my bed, candles placed strategically around the room. A quick time check told me that Aline would be at the door momentarily. I picked up my guitar and strummed a few chords. I learned a song for Aline for her birthday but we were so busy with . . . you know, that I never ended up showing her.

"Mr Jace! Aline is here to see you! I send her to your room now!" I heard Dorothea yell. Followed by a softer, "You know where his room is, Miss Aline. You be here enough. I be right down hall if you need something."Footsteps echoed through the hall. I could hear them coming closer, and stranger still, I could tell where she was based on it. She was by the kitchen, my dad's room, the linen closet, in front of my bedroom . . .

"Jacey? You in here? Why are all the lights off?" Aline asked.

"I'm right here, babe. The lights are off to make it more romantic. Here, come sit on my bed. I want to play something for you," I said.

"Umm, okay. Are you sure you're feeling alright? You're not acting like yourself." Aline sat on my bed.

I pulled my desk chair over and propped my foot up on it, strumming the opening chords.

"_I catch myself staring at your face when you're not awake. I just can't help it. No, no. Just having you here, lying next to me . . . It's the little things that cause a storm inside of me._

"_And every time you're close, I shiver, shiver, shiver. Every time we kiss I shiver, shiver, shiver. I gotta catch my breath. So caught up that I forget; every time you're close I, shiver, shiver, shiver._" I didn't even get to start the second verse when Aline put her hand on the neck of my guitar.

"That was amazing, Jace," she said, her voice breathy.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. I was going to play it for you on your birthday but, stuff got in the way. Hey, speaking of stuff, I got you an anniversary present." I said, sounding nothing like myself.

"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything! Was it expensive?" Aline asked. Her platinum blonde hair was glowing in the candlelight.

"Yeah, it was. I think you'll like it," I said, reaching under my pillow. I pulled out the little wrapped package and she squealed with delight.

"Ooh! Is this that necklace that I told you I liked?" she asked. I didn't answer, knowing that she would find out soon enough.

I pressed the little wrapped box into her hands and she quickly unwrapped it. When she opened the box, her face lit up like a little kid's on Christmas morning. She pressed one hand to her mouth.

"This is absolutely gorgeous! Thank you so much Jace!" she said, lifting the necklace out of its box.

"Here," I said, taking the necklace from her, "I'll help you put it on."

She lifted her hair up for me, and I did up the clasp on the necklace. She smiled at me. "Jace, it's wonderful."

I took a deep breath. "You look gorgeous with the necklace on." I shifted my hand from where it was resting on her neck to the small of her back. I pulled her closer to me and she took this as an invitation to press her lips to mine. I pressed mine to hers fiercely, then moved down to place kisses along her jaw line. I kept waiting for something to happen, like that magic dizzy-spell I got before the witch transformed me . . .

"Jace?" Aline asked, a little breathless. "Jacey, stop for a second. Jace . . ."

I stopped kissing her, and I heard her take a deep breath. Slowly, like she was afraid, she lifted a hand to touch my face. If I wasn't so caught up in the moment, I would've stopped her. She placed her hand on my cheek, running her fingers along the scar on my cheek, then to my nose where the silver was twined. She took a step back from me, her hand retracting from touching my face like it burned her to touch it. She looked away from me and in a small voice, said: "Who are you?"

"Aline, it's me. Jace. Your boyfriend . . ." My voice was shaking a little, and I fought hard to keep it steady.

"Jace, what the hell happened to you?" Aline asked, sounding disgusted.

"Well, there was a witch, and she—"

Aline cut me off. "Do _not_ lie to me. Witches _don't exist_. Don't bullshit me. I'm smart enough to tell when someone is lying to my face or not. And I know for a fact that you're lying. Just—get away from me. If you decide you want to tell me the truth . . . and get some plastic surgery, feel free to call me. I—I have to go." With that she ran out of my room, leaving me feeling like I had just been punched in the gut.

I ran out after her, not really caring if Dorothea saw me or not. "Wait! Aline! Come back for a minute! Let me explain!"

Aline stopped at the end of the hall. "Nuh-uh, Jace Herondale, if that's even who you really are, you had your chance to explain and you blew it with witch crap."

"Wait—Aline, at least, will you not tell anyone?" I asked.

"_Tell people_? Are you crazy? Yeah, you probably are. But me, no I'm not. And telling people about this would give me a one-way ticket to a mental institution. So, no, I won't tell anyone. _Freak_." Aline opened the door and quickly stepped out, slamming the door behind her.

"_Damn it_." There goes that plan.

_Give me some time, give me some reason  
Make up your mind, cool off the fever.  
Drama must die, so give me some way  
To salvage this life,__  
Finally it's over_

—_Dead End Countdown_, The New Cities

Translations (all courtesy of GOOGLE TRANSLATE je ne parle pas Spanish)

***_Sí, lo haré_- Yes, I will


	5. Alone Again

**Hiiiiii! So, I'm going to start off by giving you all a huge apology! I have been so busy for the past couple of weeks with school stuff and stuff stuff. So my life has been crazy. I know that's not really much of an excuse, but it's all I have. Okay, so secondly, I want to thank you for all of your support! You are all totally awesome and you are my inspiration for writing. I know you've probably heard that a bazillion times before, but it's so so true. Honestly. Thank you for your awesome reviews, they keep me going and I take all suggestions into account when I write future chapters. Like, for example, people have been asking when Clary will come back into the story. And I am now replying to that question/suggestion with the awesome reply . . . . the chapter after this one includes some of her PoV! Yay! I know, exciting right? She's a super-great character to write through the eyes of, so I'm looking forward to you all getting to read that! So this chapter is kind of a filler and it's basically all Jace. Which y'all will be sick of by the end of this story, I swear. No, for reals, I love writing from his PoV. It's so fun. I going to stop boring you with my author's note and go on to the chapter and disclaimer. Just one more quick thing. As this time of the school year is insanely busy, this chapter is not beta'd. My amazing beta, _unscenced_ is super busy right now and has not been able to get back to me with the edited version of this chapter, so as soon as I get it, I will re-post this chapter. That said, just because I am re-posting this chapter, it doesn't mean that I'm going to ignore or delete your reviews. I swear I won't so review away! Translations are at the end of the chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I own a new sundress, my laptop and hugely busy schedule. Cassie Clare, Alex Flinn, and Daniel Barnz own the characters, majority of the plot, etc. I only own whatever twists I decide to throw at the characters! The chapter song is owner by the wonderfully talented Alyssa Reid (and featuring P. Reign)**

5. Alone Again

_I sit back and reminisce; it hurts to think about it all. __  
__We was on top of the world, whoever though that we would fall? __  
__Standing by the phone, alone, ignoring your call. __  
__I feel like spider man, you got me flying off of the wall. __  
__I ain't wanna leave, but still I had to go. __  
__Cause what puts a rainbow without my pot of gold? __  
__And now your beds empty and your pillows cold, __  
__you never realised the love until my love was gone. __  
_—_Alone Again_, Alyssa Reid feat. P. Reign

MARCH 2011

Doctors suck. That's all I can say. What kind of "specialist, recommended by all past clientele" tells you that they can't help you, and to go get counselling. To which your sad-excuse-for-a-father says, "I'm looking into that. Good day," and drags you out the door, without actually laying a hand on you. Because, apparently, you disgust him.

We'd been travelling all over the country for a few weeks now, with my dad constantly on his Bluetooth, and me listening to music and trying my best not to feel let down by the fact that he almost refused to talk to me.

The last doctor we went to was in Indiana. His name was Dr. Aldertree, and he was supposedly one of best plastic surgeons in the country. I was beginning to doubt that. So far, he hadn't been helpful at all. I mean, yeah, there's no denying that his wife could cook—she made some type of cake to go with the coffee Dr. Aldertree brought out to us—but when your reasons for visiting actual have some meaning that may affect your whole life, bringing out cake and coffee just won't cut it. Needless to say, being stuck in a silent car with my father had made me a little impatient.

"Now, Mr. Herondale, I just got back to results from the tests that some of the other doctors ran on your son. I am sorry to say that the results are not in your favour. All the tests have come back saying that what has happened to your son is irreversible. This probably seems crazy, but the skin actually _refuses_ to be changed. I've tried implants, skin grafts, you name it, on a computerized model and nothing takes," Dr. Aldertree said, speaking to my father as if I wasn't there.

"Maybe it was a computer malfunction. What kind of software are you using?" my father asked.

"We're using Mac software. And I had a tech assistant check for me. The software is functioning fine. I'm sorry to say this, but I think that you should both just go home and try to deal with the consequences. Try to set up a normal routine. Get some counselling," Dr. Aldertree said softly.

"_Normal_?" my father asked, sounding enraged. "Look at him; he's a freak of nature. I don't want him living looking like that!"

"Are you suggesting he not live at all, Mr. Herondale?" the doctor asked sounding genuinely concerned for a moment.

"No, of course I'm not suggesting that. He's my son, for Christ's sake. I'm just saying that I think you could do a little more to help him," my father covered smoothly.

Dr. Aldertree's concerned look fell from his face. "Oh, well I will continue to run tests and look into treatments if that's what you want."

"It is."

His previous comment is the one that stunned me. The "I don't want him living like that!" one. Was my father so caught up in having the perfect image that he wasn't willing to accept and care for the new imperfect me?

"Jace," for the first time since we got here, Dr. Aldertree addressed me, "I know that this is probably hard for you, but I think that the best thing you can do at this point in time is try to deal with this. Go back to your normal routine, interact with your friends. Isolating yourself from the rest of society won't do you any good."

"Sir, I can't go back to my old school looking like a freak. There's no way in hell anyone will want to associate with me. I appreciate that you're trying to help, but I don't think you understand—" I was cut off by the glare my father was giving me.

"Thank you for your help Dr. Aldertree. Keep me posted on any new treatments you try. Goodbye." With that, we left, walking back out to the car. I pulled my hood up as we emerged from the doctor's house. The chauffer opened up the door for me and I sat down on one of the seats. My father stood at the side of the road.

"Are you coming, dad, or do you get a better signal out there?" I asked.

He looked at me like I had suggested that we go dissect babies. "I'm not coming back home with you. I'm needed at the station. I've wasted enough of my life for this crap, and I have a shit-load of work to do." My face must've fallen, despite my best efforts because he added, "This is pointless if it's not getting us any farther than where we started."

"You'll keep trying, right?" I asked, my voice small.

"I will never stop trying. And, I was thinking that maybe now is the right time for me to get you that motorcycle you've been asking for." He said, dialling a number on his Blackberry.

The chauffer started the engine and we drove away, leaving my father on the phone with a taxi company.

APRIL 2011

The official story was that I went was going to boarding school in Paris. That was a semi-believable explanation, seeing as I did have family there—my grandmother, Imogen. Alec called once to say goodbye and to tell me that he would need to find a new babysitter for his twin sister. I tried to sound as believable as I could on the phone. It was probably the best acting I had done in my life.

One thing I never realized about my dad's penthouse suite was that it was incredibly empty. Except for the sound of Dorothea humming or vacuuming, the house was completely quiet. It bothered me so much that after about a week of silence, I began either playing the piano constantly or practicing languages like I did with my mother when I was little. It might sound pathetic, but the silence made my situation feel even drearier than it had before.

I had been home for about a week and a half. My dad had come home yesterday before leaving to go out for dinner with his new girlfriend and co-anchor, Camille Belcourt. So far, he hadn't returned, but I saw him on the news earlier this morning.

Dorothea was doing the laundry in the basement, and I was playing the piano. I had been playing a lot lately, whether I was composing or, on days like today, playing the classics. Today, I had picked up a Chopin book and was playing through that. It kept the house sounding lived in.

I was hammering on the keys as hard as I could, trying to play at a volume that would fill the whole place. I guess I succeeded because I didn't hear _her_ come in.

"_Piano __ludens __ualde .__.__. __Imagine __of Opera _of you." She was speaking Latin, the only language, other than English, that my father had taught me himself.

"Yeah, well it kind of fits, now doesn't it?" I said sarcastically.

"_Deus meus_, I was coming here to give you help," she replied.

"Yeah, well, I can't say I want any more of your 'help' right now, Kaelie," I said, standing up and closing the cover on the piano.

"You want this help, Jace Herondale. Trust me." Kaelie said, gripping my wrist and pulling me with her to my room.

"Whoa, umm, I'm not really one for hate s—" I was cut off with Kaelie hissing in my ear.

"Do _not_ finish that sentence. This is strictly professional."

She began clawing through my dresser, until she found what she was looking for. "I gave this to you the last time I saw you. I figured that you would need some help learning how to use it." She held up the gilt-framed mirror that she had given me the last time I saw her.

"Just because you put a damn curse on me, it doesn't make me incapable of using a _mirror_," I said.

She ignored my comment. "It's magic, you know. Charmed. It can show you anything and anyone you want." She tossed it to me. "Try it out. Think of one of your friends, oops, I mean _former friends_, and it will show you them."

I didn't think the joke was that funny, but I decided to humour her and try it out anyway. I thought of the first person who came to mind: Aline. Just as I thought about her, the mirror panned to a familiar apartment. _Sebastian Verlac's place_. Soon enough, Aline came into the picture, tangled up on the couch with the biggest asshat on the planet, Sebastian.

"I get it! I'm gone, so you decide to go hook up! But I don't understand why you'd want to be with him after you had me!" I shouted.

"She can't hear you. You can hear them, but not the other way around. It's like . . . a baby monitor." Kaelie said. "Want to try again? Your face was hilarious."

I was about to say no, when my thoughts betrayed me. The mirror faded from Aline and into Alec's house. Alec was sitting on the couch too with all the lights dimmed. _He's obviously hooking up with someone_, I though. _Good for him_.

Until, that is, I got a better look at that someone. It was the boy from the news story—the fashion prodigy. I could hear them talking to each other.

"Mag—Magnus, you . . . we . . . we gotta stop. My parents could be home a—at any minute," Alec said, stumbling over his words while the other boy—Magnus—was planting kisses along his neck.

"Silly Alexander. You said they'd be gone until five and it's only three thirty. But, alas, if you want me gone, away I will go," the other boy said dramatically.

"No! Magnus, I—I don't want you to leave, but no one knows about us. What, what if someone from my school comes and knocks on my door to ask me something, or the old lady next door comes over to ask for some sugar?" Alec said, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

The other boy got up, and I noticed that his shirt was off. Suddenly something hit me—all those jokes I'd make about Alec liking me and being attracted to me, they weren't jokes to him. They were me taunting him and unconsciously teasing him about something he couldn't help. I used to criticise him about not going to the school dances, but it was probably because he felt left out of the whole thing—all of our friends had dates.

"Well, if the old lady comes to the door asking for some sugar, we can do this," Magnus lifted Alec up and sat him on his hip, Alec clinging to Magnus for dear life.

"Magnus Bane, you put me the hell down this instant!" Alec huffed.

"Or what?" Magnus asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "You'll slap me?"

Alec's face turned bright red. "No! Put me down. Magnus, I'm serious. Put. Me. Down. Now."

I'd had enough of their smut show and willed the mirror to go blank.

"Well, how do you feel about that? You're girlfriend is cheating on you with the one person you hate the most, and your best friend is gay. How about that?"

I just glared at her. "You know, every time you come over here, you claim to be doing me a favour, but now I think that your only motivation for visiting is to gloat. I'm not so lonely and desperate that I will put up with it. Seriously, get a life, and stop watching mine fall apart. Because, you know, it's your entire fault this is happening."

"You deserved it. You still do," she retorted. "But, don't worry; I'm sure that if you actually _try_ you could probably break the curse. What am I talking about? You'll never break it. Any who, I have to go, because I have a _life_. Toodles." She disappeared in a cloud of grey smoke.

MAY 2011

I moved. We, Dorothea and I, packed up the house yesterday, with me mostly sulking and her mostly cleaning. I can't say that either of us was particularly happy about the whole thing. I had packed my clothes into a suitcase on my own, not really having anything else to do.

It's a funny thing: when I was normal, I didn't mind having the house to myself, and honestly, I didn't even spend much time here. But now that it was all I had to remember my past life of friends, parties, and fun, I didn't really want to let it go. We weren't selling the apartment per se, my dad had decided that it would be a good place for him to crash at if he was working late, but I was moving out. I guess that if I ever got normal again, we'd move back in here, but for the moment that seemed about as probable as Dorothea winning the lottery. And those chances were low, seeing as every time she picks a number it's wrong.

This morning, Dad's limo picked us up. A moving truck had visited the night before and everything had been set up in this new house for us. So we left; we left the one thing in my life that had always been there. It sounds really sentimental, but I had thought about that fact all last night. Everything in my life came and went: Dad came home late every night and left early every morning, nanny's got hired and fired, maids got hired and fired, and Mom lived and died. The house, apartment really, was the only thing that always stayed.

That's not to say that the new house sucks or anything. Truth be told, it's huge. It's almost like owning our own apartment complex, except that we're the only ones living here. It's a huge Victorian-era brownstone in the nicer part of Brooklyn. There's five floors, plus a staircase to the roof, meaning that you could essentially build a sixth story on it. The first floor was the size of our old apartment with its own full kitchen, living room, study and dining room. I would be living on the second floor which was like its own mini-apartment, except that it was full-sized. There was a huge bedroom with a master bathroom attached to it, a study, a kitchen, and a living room/den. The third floor was probably where my dad would be staying, and the fourth floor looked like guest rooms. The fifth floor was a glorified attic, complete with someone's unwanted crap packed in boxes and shoved in an empty wardrobe. The best part of the fifth floor was the giant window. If you moved the boxes out of the way, there was a plush leather sofa that you could push over to the huge bay window. It had a great view of the entire city, so much so that I could actually see our old apartment.

My father also came through on his motorcycle promise. In the garage of our new house was a brand new, black BMW S1000RR motorcycle. Granted, my dad had probably had one of his coworkers do the research on the bike for him, but that didn't take away from the fact that it was still a damn good bike. That was the second best part; really, one of the only good parts.

The first day we moved in, I stayed out of Dorothea's way while she unpacked. I either spent my time in the garage, just staring at my gorgeous new motorcycle, or sitting in the first floor living room with the TV on and my laptop on my lap. I felt kind of pathetic, just sitting there with the shades drawn and my hood up while the majority of my friends were probably at the beach, or halfway around the world on some amazing vacation.

My third cousin, contacted through my dad's work, sent me some pictures of him and some of the girl's he met in Paris so I could Photoshop my body into them to make my whole disappearance seem more believable. At least, that's what we thought. But the only person who seemed to be buying it was Alec who had always been incredibly gullible.

This was punctuated by the last thing he posted on my wall after I uploaded a few photos. They were of me (my third cousin) and a few girls at the Eiffel Tower, and then again at some beach across the country from Paris. His post said: _Wow! Looks like fun! I can't believe you went to so many places in one day!_ I had forgotten to put different pictures of me in each shot because of how far the sites were from each other. I was more careful now, making sure to give the girls believable names and using different pictures of me for each. I guess I'm lucky that I posed for so many pictures when I was normal. Pictures are the bane of my existence nowadays.

An oblivious Alec and slightly unbelievable Photoshopping were the least of my worries. The leading worry at the moment went a little more like this: _How the hell will I ever be able to break this damn curse?_ When you really think about it, it's a really big worry. I have a little less than a year now to find a girl who could love me as I look now. Impossible, right?

I'm hoping that it's possible. Living like this isn't worth the effort. Every time the doorbell rang with our new neighbours welcoming us to our new neighbourhood, I was reminded of the fact that I would probably never be allowed to open up the door ever again. It was a sad, depressing thought, and it made me feel claustrophobic. I was in quarantine, the nicest quarantine in the world, but still in quarantine.

I didn't realize how much like a quarantine my house would become until my dad stopped showing up. I had been in the house for two days when one night he didn't come home from work. I had been watching some half-decent Discovery Channel documentary on sharks when I noticed that it was twelve thirty and that my dad hadn't come in yet. I decided that maybe he was just crashing at the other penthouse or was out drinking with his new 'hot' co-anchor. I grabbed my iPhone off the counter and tried to call him, having noticed earlier that the house didn't have any phones. I dialled his cell number only to get a pre-recorded message telling me that my plan had been cancelled.

The next morning, I asked Dorothea about it. "Where's my dad been lately?" I asked, trying to be as nonchalant about it as possible.

Dorothea gave me a confused look. "He no stays, Mr. Jace. I stay. I cook food. I clean mess. I stay."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Was this her idea of a sick joke? "I don't think you understood me, Dorothea. I didn't ask if _you_ were staying here, I already knew that. I just want to know where my dad is and why my phone doesn't work."

She looked at me with her eyes large and frightened. "I tell you. I stay with you. He no stay. I sorry."

Finally, something clicked. _He no stay. I stay_. "Wait—do you mean that my dad isn't living here at all? Is he staying at the penthouse?"

Dorothea nodded and hr expression became sad. "I sorry. I try hard to convince him children need parents to stay with them for company. He no listens. I try."

I felt a tidal wave of anger rise up through me. "Dammit! Why the hell does he do this? Does he think that cutting me off from the outside world is going to make the situation different? Dorothea, is there a single working phone in this house?"

A tear rolled down Dorothea's cheek. "I so sorry, Mr. Jace. He tells me not to let you call, no matter what. He think is better this way. I try convincing him, I try."

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, ignoring the alien feeling of the silver twined across my nose. "Please go get the phone. I—I just need to talk to him. To say goodbye. Please, Dorothea," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. I closed my eyes and heard her sigh.

"_Dios mío_," Dorothea said. "I go get phone for you." I heard her footsteps on the floor and opened my eyes, blinking to clear the dancing dots from my vision.

A moment later, Dorothea reappeared with a shiny Blackberry in her hand. "This our phone. He gives to me so I can get his messages and update him on how you doing here. He does care, in own strange way. You call, I get in trouble, but I willing because you look so sad."

I took the phone from her hands and dialled my father's cell phone number. He picked up on the third ring. "Hello, Dorothea. What are you calling about this time?"

I took a deep breath before speaking. "It's not Dorothea, it's me. I just wanted to talk to you." I said, hoping it didn't sound too pathetic. I could feel Dorothea's eyes boring holes into my back.

"Goodbye, Jace. In a year or so you will realize that this is for the best—" he started.

I cut him off. "Shut up, Dad. Shut the hell up and listen or I swear to God that I will go to Channel 5 News and give them the whole story of how Channel 7 reporter Stephen Herondale has a freak-show son. I swear to God I will."

His end of the phone went silent. "Fine. Talk son, I'm on a tight schedule and don't have time for your shit."

"Then I'll make it quick. The first thing I want is my phone plan back. I swear to God that I won't go to any reporters and tell them my story; I just like the normalcy of having a working cell phone."

My father sighed, and then spoke. "Fine, Jace. I'll reconnect your phone plan. Is that all you wanted?"

I had to do this. I couldn't handle sitting around every day, waiting for him to come home when I knew he never would. "One more thing: I don't want you to visit me. Ever. I'm done with waiting for you to show and being disappointed." Part of me was hoping that he would pretend to be a good father and protest.

He didn't. "If that's what you want, Jace."

I had to seal the deal. "It is." I replied. _Done_.

"Goodbye, Jace." With that, he hung up and I gave the phone back to Dorothea.

"You feel better Jace?" she asked. She held the phone carefully in her hands, as though it was a piece of an antique china tea set.

"Yeah, I feel better." I said. Dorothea gave me a thin smile and left, humming something to herself.

I walked over to my bedroom and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I picked up the mirror from my bedside table and looked into it, needing to see my father's face. I wanted to know if he was feeling the same way. The mirror panned to a familiar apartment and showed my father and his co-anchor intertwined on the coach. _So much for it being hard to get certain scents off the couch, Dad, _I thought. I was alone. All alone. Again.

_You act like you don't need me,__  
__'cause you're scared of being needy.__  
__You want to have your cake and eat it to,__  
__I call that being greedy.__  
__And they say that love costs,__  
__consider this a freebie.__  
__No one said this would be easy.__  
__Either love me or just leave me.__  
__Admit it, we too old for pretended.__  
__Ain't like our bond is broken,__  
__it just needed some mending.__  
__And when you need a hand,__  
__you know I'll be there to lend it.__  
_—_ Alone Again_, Alyssa Reid feat. P. Reign

**Translations (courtesy Google Translate, I only speak a bit of French):**

*****_**Dios mío- **_**My God (Spanish)**

*****_**Piano **__**ludens **__**ualde .**__**.**__**.**__**Imagine **__**of Opera**_- **Playing the piano, how Phantom of the Opera (Latin)**

***_Deus meus- _My God (Latin)**

**Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I hope it wasn't too filler-y. I tried to make it a bit exciting. Please review and let me know your thoughts. As well as my extreme gratitude and quicker update, reviewing will also get you a teaser-excerpt from the next chapter . . . _Rolling In The Deep_ (named after the amazing song by Adele).**

**FireandIce95**


	6. Rolling in the Deep

**Hi! Sorry this took me so long to post! I was studying for exams and such. I had one today, science, which was super easy and then I have one on Monday, history which I'm not exactly looking forward to. There's too many dates to memorize. Exciting thing number 1: _Beastly_ comes out on DVD next Tuesday! Yay! Exciting thing number 2: School is almost officially over! Double yay! I'm actually really excited about that. So, this chapter. A. It's long. B. It contains Clary's point of view. Yes, its kind of a small part, but its better than nothing! And yes, in case you're wondering, this is based on a combination of the book _Beastly_ and the movie _Beastly_. I had someone ask me that and I kinda forgot to reply. Next, thank you for all the amazing reviews! You guys seriously rock! **

**Yes, I reposted my other chapters and fixed some, no, a lot of stuff. I screwed up the timeline and this one makes _way_ more sense. So yes, they now attended the HOMECOMING DANCE, not the SPRING DANCE just to clarify.**

**Oh and this isn't beta'd because my amazing beta is really busy with life at the moment. I'll repost the beta-edited version later, but don't be afraid to review because I still look at them! **

**Disclaimer: I own nada. A lot of the dialogue in the chapter will probably seem familiar because it's almost dead-on with the movie ;)**

**ENJOY!**

6. Rolling In the Deep

_There's a fire starting in my heart,__  
__Reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark,__  
__Finally, I can see you crystal clear,__  
__Go ahead and sell me out and a I'll lay your ship bare,__  
__See how I'll leave with every piece of you,__  
__Don't underestimate the things that I will do_

—_Rolling In the Deep_, Adele

MARCH 2011_-Clary_

Sometimes, life just sucks. Some days, nothing goes right. Most days, both of these things are true. If I told you that having to 'volunteer' at a school dance was fun, you'd know I was lying through my teeth. Either that or I was crazy, which I swear I'm not. I don't _like_ watching my best friend since kindergarten get played like a harp by Queen Bitch Supreme Isabelle Lightwood. I don't _like_ having to dress up, and then be told that I'm not actually allowed to _attend_ the dance, that I'm really volunteering the whole time and catering to the more affluent student's needs. You know what the one thing that keeps me here? It's the thought that in just over one year's time, I'll be out of here forever. I'll never have to take care of anyone else again. It'll just be me. And my cat. When I get out of this place, I am _so_ getting a cat and naming him (or her, I'm not sexist) _Thank-God I'm-Out-Of New-York_.

You probably think I'm insane. You're probably saying to yourself, _this girl lives in New York freaking City, why the hell is she complaining_? Well, you'll see soon.

The Homecoming Dance was an Alicante Academy tradition, in which the rich guys all asked their rich girlfriends to go to a dance where they all just stand on the dance floor and grind up against each other. It was 'highly suggested' that the scholarship students—like me—volunteer at the dance to cater to the needs of the students whose parents pay for their tuition. So that's where I was on the night of the Homecoming Dance. I was wearing a dress I splurged on and collecting people's tickets.

"Have a nice night!" I called as a happy-looking couple handed me their tickets and walked in, holding hands. The girl didn't even look back to acknowledge me, but the guy turned around for two seconds to stare at my chest before deciding I wasn't worth losing his date over. What a big confidence booster. _Not_.

That was how most of the beginning of my evening went. "Have a nice night!" "Have fun!" "Your dress is gorgeous! Have fun!" I probably sounded like I was reading everything off a script. I was bored, sue me. Actually, don't. The way my father's been acting lately, I need all the money I can get to bail him out of jail.

Let me explain. My whole life has consisted of going to school, studying, and trying to keep my dad off the drugs and alcohol. Granted, it's not a great life, but you have to suck it up and take the hand your dealt. Mine just so happens to be crappy. My dad has had a drug and drinking problem ever since Mom died in a freak car accident. I was too young to remember, but I've heard the story a million times. Depending on how drunken Dad happens to be at the time decides how gory and bloody the story will be. So my whole life has been about me taking care of him.

"Hey," I said, taking the next person's ticket without looking at them.

"Oh, hi. You're . . . Clary, right?" I had to look up to make sure the voice matched the face I was picturing. There he was, in the flesh, the cockiest guy to ever walk the halls of Alicante. The guy I had the misfortune of making a complete fool of myself in front of once.

"I'm surprised you remembered. I guess being run into in the hallway is pretty memorable," I joked nervously. _Why was I nervous? _He was looking at me and behind me at the same time. I could hear his pain in the ass girlfriend, Aline, cooing at her friend's dresses.

"Incredibly," he said, giving me his signature smirk. I ignored the butterflies that it created in my stomach.

I needed to distract myself. I settled on the beautiful rose corsage in his hand. "That's a really pretty rose," I said, slapping myself mentally. _'Really pretty'? Was I trying to sound like a two-year-old?_

"You think so?" he asked. "My girlfriend won't wear it, so you can have it if you want." I had to tell myself that he just wanted to get rid of the rejected flower to stop my knees from turning to Jell-o.

"Thanks. I don't see why she won't wear it, it's gorgeous. Anyway, you're free to go in. Have a good night Jace," I said, putting the corsage on and admiring the perfect curve of its petals.

"You too," he said. _He wished me a good night_.

JUNE 2011_-Jace_

I had taken to walking the streets at night. I wasn't afraid of being robbed or shot, and if I was, I was too desperate to really care. I was starting to feel claustrophobic in my own house and needed the fresh air. I got to try out my motorcycle for the first time ever that first night I snuck out. I think that Dorothea secretly knew I was sneaking out, but she knew enough to leave me alone. Waking up was becoming a chore and these night time joyrides were the only things that got me out of bed in the morning. I had no school, no responsibilities, and no parental supervision. It would be any normal guy's dream. But, oh yeah, I don't fall under the 'normal' category anymore.

My life has become a medley of elevator music with the occasional soft-rock song thrown in. The Ancient Greeks believed that people's lives were a tapestry of colours, and if that was so mine would be a splash of vibrant gold's and rainbow colours along the bottom and then fade to blacks, whites and grays towards the middle, representing my life now.

The highlight of my week was when I drove by my father's apartment—I refused to think of it as _our_ apartment—and got to see him locked out on the balcony doubled over. He probably pissed off his new girlfriend and got locked out of the apartment. _Idiot_.

OCTOBER 2011_-Jace_

Months passed.

Each day blended into the next.

My life was a complete mess. A disaster. Each day, I would stay in bed until four in the afternoon, then I'd eat whatever brunch Dorothea had made for me that morning, and then I'd sit in the living room and watch TV until its dark out, and then I'd go out on my bike until I felt like going to bed. Then the whole cycle would repeat itself.

Today was different, though. I didn't get to stay in bed until four in the afternoon. Dorothea woke me up at nine thirty and dragged me down the stairs.

"Every day you sit up in your room and sulk. You no play sports or walk around house. You sleep and watch TV. Night is the only time you alive and it has to stop. I feel like I just stealing money from your father and is not right. I take care of no one in this big house. I cook for no one, clean for no one. From now on you will get up normally and have normal day." She said firmly.

"In case you haven't noticed, I _can't live normally_ because that would imply me _being normal_." As a second thought, I added, "And my father is a bastard. Take all the money from him that you want."

She shook her head at me and pointed to the kitchen. "Now, we going to go to kitchen and sit down. We eat like a normal family. I make you bacon, eggs and coffee. You need pick-me-up Jace. Come wake up and meet the real world."

I didn't really want to meet the real world. Before, I was king of the real world, but now I felt like an outsider. Face it; I was stuck in a house with the maid, not allowed to be seen by people. It's a pretty pathetic situation. I figured it wouldn't hurt to humour her, and besides, it's not like I had anything else to do, so I followed her to the kitchen and sat at the table, which had never been used before.

Dorothea served me a cup of hot coffee and a plate full of bacon and scrambled eggs. The coffee was bitter, but hot, and although the bacon was greasy and the eggs weren't done my favourite way, the food was still good, somehow. Maybe it was eating in the company of another person was what made the crappy food so . . . not crappy. I doubted it, though. I was probably just so tired and pathetically lonely that anything normal felt good.

After the normal breakfast, I decided to watch TV. Nothing was on, so I ended up going down to the basement to throw a basketball at the wall. It didn't keep me occupied very long, and before long I was lying on the couch again, a bag of chips in my hand. When the doorbell rang, I was so surprised with the sudden destruction of my silence that I almost fell of the couch trying to get out of sight. Dorothea got to the door before I had time to leave the room. _Don't look this way _was the mantra I kept up in my head.

"Oh! I see. You come in, make yourself at home!" Dorothea said to the visitor. To me, she called, "Jace! Jace! You come see our guest!"

I wondered if she was out of her mind, but made my way to the door anyway with my hood up over my head. There was a man at the door, mid-to-late thirties, slightly balding head, with a golden-brown dog at his feet.

"Um, hi I'm Jace," I said, sticking my hand out at the man.

He was looking the other way when he said, "Nice to meet you, Jace. I'm Luke, your tutor."

I fought the urge to hit my head against a wall. _My dad got me a tutor? Seriously? Was this his idea of being helpful and fatherly?_ "Did my father send you?"

He nodded, still looking the other way. "Yes."

I felt a red rush of anger flood my face. "Okay, I don't know what he told you, but this whole thing isn't going to work out if you can't even look at me. I'm over here!" I emphasize my point I waved my other hand at him.

Luke chuckled and let a smile cross his face. "Well, that might be a little difficult, seeing as I'm _blind_."

I now had to fight the urge to stick a gun to my head and end my life now. _A blind tutor? Oh, yeah, because they are so much better than a regular tutor. Oh, he was thinking of me? Well, thanks Dad, thanks a lot for having your secretary look up 'blind tutors looking for work' and sending the first one here. Thanks so damn much_. "Oh, well then, on that account, welcome to hell. Come in, do whatever you want, spend whatever you want. Gouge the old man for everything he's got. I don't know why he hired you, but I'll make this clear: you can stay here, eat the food, but as for studying calculus, I think I'll take a pass. My father hired you in some twisted attempt to seem like he gives a crap about me and my 'well-being'." I turned on my heel and shouted, "Dorothea!"

"Nice to meet you too," Luke said sarcastically. I ignored his comment and left the room, walking over to my bedroom and collapsing face-first on my bed. I looked at my calendar, October 31st. The date gave me some hope. _Halloween_. The night when the streets are over-run by pretend freaks and the abnormal is completely normal. Maybe, just maybe, if I was brave enough, I would go out to see the city again.

I was.

That night, I took my motorcycle and drove it down to Alicante Academy, where the school was having its annual Halloween dance. I figured that I didn't need a costume, and I didn't need ID either since it was a costume dance, meaning that ID was basically useless since if your make-up and costume was good enough, you would look nothing like yourself. My costume was pretty damn good.

The music playing was techno, and I could feel the beat of it through the floor. It matched the frantic beating of my heart, and my footsteps making my way across the gym floor. People smiled drunkenly at me and a few said, "Great costume," before going back to their gyrating. I missed being able to do that, told hold my girlfriend close during slow songs and watch her dance like she was drunk during the more upbeat ones.

Suddenly, an all-too-familiar girl came into view. Kaelie, the new bane of my non-existence. She came up to me, a smirk on her face. "Hi Jace. Having fun?" She asked.

I shook my head at her. I couldn't afford to lose my composure. I was here to deal with her, to see if I could talk myself into a one-way ticket out of this non-life I was now living and back to the real life I used to live. "I could be," I said, figuring it was a safe answer.

She gave me a pout. Her costume was a sexy-fied version of the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz, which I only knew because my old nanny, Mai, had had a thing for all things Broadway and musical. Plus, she probably had a thing for the scarecrow man, Fiyero, too, even though the original scarecrow from the movie used to scare me more than the prospect of flying monkeys did. "Poor baby."

She wasn't exactly making this easy."Look, is there any way that we can just . . . call it even? You win, okay? I know what it's like to be hideously deformed now; you've proven your point. I'll be nicer to people. Just . . . just make it all go away and back to normal . . . _please_."

She had a look of faux surprise on her face. "Did you just say _please_? My God, you are different. We should call the news people. They could do a whole segment on you and your _change of heart_. Oh, and look, you were polite and you didn't melt! I think that's what we call 'promise'."

"This coming from the girl dressed up like an uglier, hooker version of Elphaba." Oh God, I blew it.

"That's what I'm talking about. Smart-ass remarks like that. You throw them off like Euros into the Trevi Fountain; you always revert back to your old way like they always return to Rome."

"Oh, and like you revert back to your bitch-craft?" I'm digging myself a deeper hole every time.

She rolled her eyes. "Seven months left. Seven months left for someone to tell you 'I love you'. And, just a tip, don't call a girl 'an uglier, hooker version of Elphaba'." She spun on her heel, leaving me in the middle of a crowd of people, pushing back suicidal feelings. I've blown every chance I've gotten.

I slunk through the crowd and towards to back, where, surprise, surprise, Sebastian was sucking face with my ex-girlfriend Aline. "Aline!" I called, before slapping a hand over my mouth and rushing to get out of sight. _Idiot_.

Aline broke the kiss and sat up in Sebastian's lap. "Did you hear that? It—it sounded like Jace."

Sebastian made a face. "That bastard? It's just your subconscious because you feel guilty that you ditched that douche for this little piece of heaven." That was probably one of the lamest comments Sebastian had ever made. Yes, I'm sure I was a douchebag , but seriously? Calling yourself a little piece of heaven?

Aline, dressed in a slutty Vaudeville dancer costume, giggled and pulled her barely-there top up to cover her. "He was a total douche. I always felt like I had to be such a horrible person around him to keep him entertained. You're probably right, Seb. Kiss?" She gave him an innocent look, and then shoved her tongue into his mouth. She was nothing like she was when I originally fell for her in freshman year, and I didn't regret not having her at that moment, even though the other me would've loved her costume.

I kicked over the nearest chair, thinking about how stupid I had been and was still being. I blew my one chance to placate Kaelie and get my life back. I let Aline turn into some two-cent skank.

"Hey!" A voice brought me back to reality. I turned around to see a girl dressed up like Juliet Capulet from the 1996 version of Romeo and Juliet with Leonardo DiCaprio, a movie I only knew because Aline wanted to watch it. And with her red hair, which she had a white lily pinned into, she kind of looked like Claire Danes.

"Sorry," I apologised, retreating further into my hood.

"No, no, I'm the one who's sorry for spying on you . . . spying. Would you look at that," she motioned to where Aline and Verlac were back to their massive show of PDA, "it does sort of feel like the death of romance unfolding before your eyes, doesn't it?"

"Doesn't she have a boyfriend?" I asked.

Clary gave me a look. It was one that said _you bet_ in a sarcastic way. "_Yes_, this is what I'm saying," she pointed at me for emphasis, "what happened to romance? Sappy, soppy, long-hand love letters . . ." She trailed off and looked into space, her green eyes alight. She ran a hand through her hair, causing the lily to fall out before suddenly seeming to notice that I was still there and saying, "And you really, really don't have keep listening to me by the way. Thing is, you know that guy she dated,—is dating,—they're talking about him all wrong. Personally, I respected that he called things like he saw them, even if he was seeing them all wrong. But you know what it really was?"

I decided that I would play along, hear what she had to say about me. "What?"

"It was a shot of life," she said, nodding her head.

I smiled to myself, thinking that at least one person thought I did something right. She then left, leaving me standing there with her sweet-smelling perfume still hanging in the air. She was nice; she was normal, and . . . despite whatever I had thought about her in the past, she was actually quite pretty, especially in Juliet's white gown. I bent down and picked up the flower that fell out of her hair, cradling it in my hands as I made my way out of the gym and back to my motorcycle.

I think that I crashed on the floor before I was able to make it into my bed, because I awoke in the morning to the sound of someone throwing darts at the hockey themed dartboard. I turned around and saw that it was Luke, the blind tutor, who was hitting the bulls-eye with perfect aim.

"You're kidding me, right?" I said, not willingly to believe that Luke, a blind guy, could hit the bulls-eye perfectly multiple times while I, with working eyes, was lucky if I hit the board, period. He threw another dart as I got up and went to stand beside him. "How do you do that?" I asked, squinting and looking for some sort of wire that could be guiding his arm.

"I went to this dance and some emo chick put a dart hex on me," he said sarcastically, only pausing from his throwing to look in the direction of my voice with his unseeing eyes.

Rolling mine, I said, "Bite me."

He turned around slightly and reached into the back pocket of his pants, pulling out a book titled _A Tale of Two Cities_ out of his back pocket. I caught it as it went flying at my face. "Oh, hey, now that you're up, wanna learn something?" He asked.

"No," I replied, taking one look at the book and putting it on the shelf behind me.

He went to retrieve the darts from the board and turned around saying, "Be careful, if you lose your smarts, blondes will start making jokes about you." I didn't feel like pointing out to him that when I actually had hair, I was blond.

Then something else took center stage in my mind, what Aline and Seb-asstard were talking about last night. "My dad always said that how much people like you is directly proportional to what you look like. But . . . they _hated_ me."

Luke gave me what I supposed was a sympathetic look, but I wasn't so used to getting those and wasn't sure what exactly they looked like. "High school _unquestionably_ sucks ass," he said, getting ready to throw the next dart.

I was shocked. "You went to regular school?"

He nodded, throwing the dart and again getting a bulls-eye. "At fifteen, when my friends were losing their virginity, I was losing my sight." He threw two more darts before saying, "But, you know, sometimes living hell actually has it upsides."

"Like better hearing?" I guessed, thinking back to that one gym class I had in grade 9 where we talked about different disabilities, and I jokingly imputed something about ugliness being a crippling disease. I was closer on than I had thought with that one.

He nodded, "And chicks dig blind guys," he said, his voice completely serious.

I sighed and collected the darts for him. "Well," I said, handing him the darts, "too bad they don't dig ugly guys."

Luke surprised me and stuck his arm out so I couldn't walk past him. "Jace," he said, his earlier joking tone completely disappearing, "how do you know?"

I looked down at the ground and walked past him, intent on changing out of the clothes I slept in. "I don't know, Luke. I can just . . . tell." I walked out of the room and upstairs to where my bedroom was located. Once inside, I stripped off my plastered-on shirt and pulled a new one over my head, looking the opposite way of the mirror built into the wall. Tentatively, once I had the shirt on, I turned around and for two seconds I saw an image of the way I used to look, but with the same dejected look on my face. _Smile_, I thought. _You're good looking, everyone pretends to like you. Even when you screw up, you're still the Golden Boy._

Then, just as a ghost of my old smile was sliding back into place, the image faded and was replaced with one of me now. Scars across my cheeks, tattoos, and the silver piece. _You're allowed to look dejected_, I told this reflection. _You're hideous, ugly beyond belief and no matter what people tell you, you're not worthy of love. Even your own father rejected you._

I turned away from the mirror and hunted for new boxers and pants, which I found and swapped for the ones I was wearing. I looked over at my desk, which held my computer, still on from last night. I opened up the last website I was on and found that it was Facebook. I closed the page, not wanting to see the other comments from Alec, or Izzy, or anyone about my 'disappearance'. After that, I pulled out the mirror from Kaelie and thought of Clary. The image showed a small apartment in the low-income part of New York. Clary was sitting at her desk, her red hair in a bun held by a lime green pencil. She was reading a paper from an envelope and frowning. The expression just didn't look right on her.

"Dammit Dad! Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" She swore, taking me by surprise. She put the paper down and ran down the hall to where a man was hunched over a desk wearing what looked like a worn-out lab coat.

"Clarissa? What are you doing in here?" the man rasped out. He used his body to cover his work.

"Dad, I thought you said that you were done with this? You stole a twenty-four pack of beer from the convenience store and when the owner said he was going to call the police you left with the beer? We have a five-hundred dollar fine to pay now! How am I supposed to get that money, and no, you can't suggest me taking it out of my France-Italy trip fund, because I won't." She said angrily.

Her father reached over and slapped her. "You don't talk to me like that!" He roared in anger.

Clary's green eyes started tearing up as her hand went to her cheek, red from the slap mark. Her father seemed to realize what he had done, because he started apologising profusely. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry Clarissa. I shouldn't have done that. I didn't mean to!"

She shook her head. "Dad, don't bother. I'll put in extra hours at the clinic, see if Bat can give me a small raise. I'll pay it. But . . . but in return, you have to _stop_ this. Stop with the drug dealing, stop with the binge drinking. And you have to look for a job, even if it's part time as cashier or something. Do we have a deal, Dad?"

Her father nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, we have a deal. Do we ever. I—I'll start looking in the paper right now and tomorrow I'll go to the employment office. I promise, Clarissa." She nodded and gave him a hug, wiping her eyes.

I let the image in the mirror fade, thinking that her family might just be more messed up than mine. She didn't deserve to live like that. Suddenly, I felt like I needed to help her. It was an unfamiliar urge. One that I had seldom gotten before. And . . . I sort of liked the way it felt. Maybe there was hope for me.

_Baby, I have no story to be told_

_But I've heard one on you and it's gonna make your head burn_

_Think of me in the depths of your despair_

_Making a home down there as mine sure won't be shared_

—_Rolling in the Deep_, Adele

**So, there you have it. You got to meet Luke, and you got some Clary PoV! Woot! Tell me what you think in a review pretty please! I swear that this time I will actually give excerpt to reviewers!**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


	7. I'm Yours

**Hi! You guys are _so_ lucky! Two chapters in three days, that's a new record for me. I guess I'm trying to make up for not posting anything for so long before this. But, I have a _lot_ of inspiration _pour la moment_. Haha, so yep. This chapter is long, and it's pretty close to the movie especially the dialogue, which I think is almost dead-on, but this chapter needed to be close to the originals because it leads into the more me-created next few chapters. The movie is pretty skippy with events and the book takes place over two years so I'm taking the path down the middle and creating their relationship-building myself.**

**This chapter is courtesy of me doing everything I can to _not_ study for history, which is working out better than I thought it would. Plus, I like this chapter. And it's chapter 7! Not that that means anything, but , wow, I can't believe that we have gotten this far! You are all such awesome inspiration, I _love_ it!**

**Disclaimer: _Je ne possède rien_. (French for: I own nothing) The chapter song is owned by the awesome Jason Mraz, and all translations (except the one above, I do actually speak a _petit peu_ of French and translated that on my own) are courtesy of Google Translate, which is my hero some days.**

**Enjoy!**

7. I'm Yours

_Well you dawned on me and you bet I felt it__  
__I tried to be chill but you're so hot that I melted__  
__I fell right through the cracks__  
__And now I'm trying to get back__  
__Before the cool done run out__  
__I'll be giving it my bestest__  
__Nothing's going to stop me but divine intervention__  
__I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some__  
__—I'm Yours_, Jason Mraz

NOVEMBER 2011-_Clary_

I was putting in extra hours at the clinic to make up enough money to both go on the trip _and_ pay the bail for my father's slip-up. I keep telling myself that one day I'll stick up for myself to him and say _no_, and that I'm tired of all his crap, but then whenever the time comes for me to do it, I back away and retreat. Use a defensive tone to cover up the hurt over the way he speaks to me and treats me.

I stayed late at the clinic, helping the secretary file papers from new patients. The owner of the clinic, Bartholomew, who we all called Bat, was sympathetic to my situation, having grown up the same way, and gave me slight salary raise, which I was thankful for. I was a mere two hundred dollars away from my trip to freedom, and was I _ever_ excited. Needing to pay my dad's debt put a bit of a damper on my mood, but I just kept telling myself, _two hundred dollars to freedom_. That prospect was exciting. All I could think of was the trip. It filled my dreams with visions of the Eiffel Tour, the _Tour Eiffel_, and the Roman Coliseum, and all the other fabulous sights Europe had to offer. I could see the heading in the newspaper now, _Clary Escapes Her Life and Has Fun in a New World_.

That was my main reason for going on the trip. I just wanted to escape my life. I didn't like having to constantly worry about my father and what dumbass move he'd make next. Looking out for only me was going to feel so good.

"G'night, Bat!" I said, giving the clinic owner a one-armed hug.

"Night, Clary. Tell your Dad that I say 'hi'." Bat said, giving me a kind smile.

"I will," I assured him. Bat seemed to like everyone and was the single friendliest person I knew. I left the clinic and walked back to the apartment, collapsing onto my bed and giving Simon, who had called while I was working, a call back.

"Hello?" A sleepy voice answered the phone.

"Si? It's Clary; you called while I was working?" I replied. I checked my clock; it was only eleven thirty.

There was a shuffling noise on the other line. "Oh, hi Clary. You're working late now. Did you just get in?" Without letting me answer, Simon continued talking. "Anyway, I was calling to invite you to this thing Isabelle is hosting. Her parents are going to be out of town next weekend, and she wanted to have a small get-together. It'll just be her, me, you, Alec, Alec's boyfriend, and Isabelle's cousin, so you won't feel like a fifth wheel or anything. She wants to get to know you better, since you're my best friend and all. I figure that while they all talk, you and me can play Halo on their PS3. Isabelle won't ever play with me; she thinks the game is stupid."

I felt almost bad for Simon. His girlfriend Isabelle is what you would call controlling. Her word is law, she makes all the calls. She was probably keeping Simon's balls in a jar, because that boy was _so_ whipped. "Um, sure, Simon." I answered. Maybe we could finally hang out then, even if I did have to see Isabelle.

"Great! I'll see you next Saturday at two! Oh and Isabelle says hi!" Simon said cheerfully before hanging up. So Isabelle was over. That's great. I didn't even want to think about what they were probably doing. I set my phone on my desk and plugged it into its charger. Walking down the hall, I found my father curled up in his bed and pulled the extra blanket up over him.

NOVEMBER 2011-_Jace_

Luke's dog was named Alaric. It was a strange name for a dog, but was very fitting of this one. Alaric had a way of looking at you that would make you think that he was more intelligent than he let on. He would stare at me as I walked by, as if to say, _I don't trust you. You're not normal. _That alone proved how smart he was.

I went for a walk that night instead of taking my bike. It was the first time, and every sound made me skittish. A police officer strolled by as I walked out of the house, so I hid in the shadows until he left. Then, as I was walking, a couple walked by and I crouched down, as if I was tying my shoe, to better hide my face.

New York City truly is the City of Lights. As I walked down the street, everything was lit up in a vibrant glow, showing the city's true Night Life colours. The sound of police cars was constantly there, and I took back alleys to avoid the majority of people. I wasn't afraid of being attacked by gangs or some stoned street person, I was sure that one look at me would send them running.

Last night, I had creeper-ishly looked Clary up online to find her address; and had written it down. I needed to see her house, to get a better look at her life. It wasn't a want; it was a need, like needing to breathe. As much as I told myself it was a horrible idea, I couldn't shake it. So, I decided to try it out. My life was already crappy enough, what else could go wrong?

I could see her through her window reading a book. Yes, I probably could've seen that through the mirror, but that didn't feel as real. This on the other hand, this felt real and dangerous. I didn't stay for very long. She looked out the window a few times, as if she could tell that I was watching her.

DECEMBER 2001-_Jace_

It was my first Christmas without my mom. It was just me and my dad at the lake house; me making snow angels, and him emailing on his Blackberry. Even at that age, I didn't have a good relationship with my dad. I was too much of a real . . . child. And at seven years old, I had a right to be. My father didn't quite understand that fact. He wanted a son that he could gripe about his colleagues to, not someone who needed to constantly be entertained. That's what he got, though.

One morning, while my dad was still asleep, I snuck out of the house and started building a snow fort, hoping to be able to throw snowballs at my dad when he walked out of the lake house trying to find me. I worked all morning at building my fort, building up the walls, a peep-hole through which I could see if my father was coming outside while he couldn't see me.

I waited out there for hours but my dad never came out. Eventually, my stomach growling and my butt sore from sitting on my make-shift snow chair, I got out of my fort and gathered a snow ball in my hands to throw at my dad's window, maybe to get his attention, and maybe because I was mad that he hadn't even noticed that I was gone. As I was about to throw it, my dad looked out the window, shaking his head at me and mouthing _don't scratch the windows_.

NOVEMBER 2011_-Simon_

Clary and I have been best friends since kindergarten. She was the only girl who would sit near me at snack time and listen to me talk about comic books. That's true friendship for you, that there.

Ever since I sat beside the gorgeous goddess, Isabelle Lightwood in English class in sophomore year, Clary and I have drifted apart. We barely ever see each other in school, her being fully immersed in school work, and me enjoying my one-way ticket to Alicante Academy popularity.

Clary's not the jealous type. She's more the type of girl who clears her own pathway. Ever since her mother's death, she's gotten more defensive. I understand that she felt she had an appearance to keep up as the 'Scholarship Kid', but it seemed to be the first tear in the piece of fragile paper that was our friendship. Deep, I know. I think that's why Isabelle likes to keep me around. I write poetry, too, by the way. I wrote this one for Isabelle last night, and you know what? It worked because I got a little somethin' somethin' from her.

_Roses are blood red,_

_ Violets are oh-so- blue,_

_ But I love doin' it with you_

Pretty damn good poem, right? Of course it is. I'm the new Edgar Allen Poe, except my muse isn't the raven outside my window and I'm not morbid, except for the fact that besides Isabelle, my other love is killing people on Call of Duty. I know, I know, I live an epic life. Clary, on the other hand, lives a not so epic life. That's exactly why I argued with Isabelle to invite her to the little get together at their place this weekend. All I can do is hope that Isabelle and Clary get along, and then I can keep both girls in my life—my kick-ass girlfriend, and my awesome-sauce best friend.

NOVEMBER2011-_Jace_

I woke up early the next morning, feeling a surge of hope after seeing Clary the night before. Something about her made everything else seem pointless. Oh, God, I sounded like a love-sick idiot.

I left my room to see Alaric pacing around the hall. "Hey, boy. How're you doing today?" I had always liked animals, and as a child I had wanted a dog but my dad said that having a dog meant having one more person's crap to pick up. In his language, that meant a definite no.

I walked up the stairs to where Luke had set up his stuff. Dorothea told me last night that she had filled him in on everything—who I was, the curse, my father—and that he seemed like he genuinely cared. I decided to go visit, see if I could get to know this guy better. Having someone else in the house to, well, not talk to per se, but just as another presence, felt good.

I got to his room to see Luke standing in front of his dresser, running his fingers over his collection of ties. As if sensing my presence, he turned his head in my direction and said, "Defying expectations, blindy keeps up his vision sense of style." As he picked one tie out of his collection and pulled it over his head, he said, "A hold-over from my seeing days."

I rolled my eyes at him, thinking, _this is supposed to make me feel better how?_ "Point being, no matter what, how you look matters."

He shook his head at me in a way that dripped of pity. "Point being, it's not how others look at me, it's about how I look at myself." Sensing my confused, he gave me a dry smile and said, "Mental rubix cube, I know. But one day it'll make sense." With that he tightened his tie and sat on the side of his bed, tying his shoes.

I left, my earlier buoyant feeling replaced by a more foreboding one. Despite what Luke said about looks not really mattering, I knew that he was only saying it to make me feel better. It's like when you try out for a talent show and get rejected, and your parents tell you, "Oh, it's just their way to give not-so-talented kids a chance. You're above that. You'll make it next time."

I turned my laptop on, feeling that there was something I needed to do. First, I logged onto my Facebook account and completely cleared my profile of information and words, leaving all the fill-ins blank. I then took down all the faux pictures of me in France, thinking that I didn't want to pretend that I was having such a great fabulous life, living it up in the French Riviera when really I was trapped in my own private hell.

Next, I went to the site Alicante Academy had created to keep in touch with its students, both while they are in the school and after they graduate. I looked over my profile on there, feeling a little nostalgic.

I scanned through the photo albums, seeing black and white pictures of me, sepia-tone pictures of me, pictures of me and Aline from the year book, pictures of Alec, Isabelle, Aline, and I smiling and looking like a picture out of a magazine perched on the huge water fountain out in front of the school. They were all snapshots of another person's life, now. I looked over the main page, seeing the perfection of my picture, no blemishes in sight. I hadn't needed any Photoshopping back then. The profile was completely irrelevant. My interests—anything bangable (Aline had been pretty pissed about that, demanding why I felt the need to write that on there, and wasn't she enough to satisfy my needs?). The 'About Me' spot was filled with 5 simple words—'Hate fattycakes – guts with butts'. It had seemed absolutely hilarious at the time and perfectly highlighted me and how I saw the world. Well, whether I wanted it to or not, my perspective was changing. The once-hilarious joke now seemed like a bunch of meaningless bullshit that some asshole put online to make him or herself feel more secure in their looks.

Below all of that, there was a little button I had never thought of pushing before. It was labelled 'Deactivate Account'. Those two words had never sounded so promising. Deactivate, as in, the synonym for 'delete'. I clicked it and another little window popped up asking for a reason for deactivation. Staring out the window, I tried to think of something to write. "I'm dead". "Having more fun in Europe". "Never going back again". All were perfectly fine answers, but I wanted something different. Suddenly, I saw a butterfly outside fly into one of the neighbour's moth-traps. It electrocuted the once gorgeous Monarch butterfly into a dried-up brown crisp. Something about that simple action gave me the perfect thing to write. In the box I typed, _I am no more_. It was the perfect mix of foreboding and mysterious, and it was completely true. The Jace Herondale that the profile belonged to was truly no more. He didn't live in a penthouse in the heart of New York City; he wasn't dating the hottest girl in school. Hell, right now, he wasn't even _going_ to school. He didn't have his looks, his network of friends. He was nothing. I was nothing.

That night, I went for another walk to see Clary. Sappy it might sound, but she kind of . . . sort of . . . made me feel a little bit better. Like I really did exist. I stood at the corner of her street, masked by the shadows. Tonight, she wasn't reading. She was walking out the door of her building, headphones on her ears and a colourful scarf wrapped around her neck. She looked over at me, as if she could really see me, then looked the other way and started walking. I followed her, keeping my distance and trying to look casual as I walked through the bright streetlamps. She walked into a dirty-looking convenience store and handed the man at the counter an envelope, nodding her head at him and using her hands to help communicate her message. This must've been the place her father jacked the beer from and she was paying the manager the fine. Her father was a selfish bastard for making her pay _his_ debts. But that's how far family love can go. The manager nodded at Clary, and then went into the back and got a green box of _Mike and Ike_'s for her along with a cup of what looked like French Vanilla coffee. She handed him a few bills before leaving the store, box and coffee in hand.

Once she exited the store, she turned in my direction, taking a careful sip of her drink. She shook her head, as if to say that she was just seeing things, and continued walking. So I kept following her, feeling like the world's biggest stalker, but unable to stop. I watched as she danced to whatever song was playing on her iPod, eating her candy and drinking her coffee. "_I might be bad but I'm perfectly good at it. Sex in the ai__—__"_ she realized that she was singing out loud and slapped a hand across her mouth, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. I smiled to myself, thinking of how full of life she was, regardless of what her father made her pay. She smiled too, and it felt like a twin of my own. She continued walking, and for the first time, I wondered where she could be going.

It turned out to be nowhere, and a few minutes later, she had completed her loop back to where she lived. She dropped her coffee in the trash can located by the sidewalk and took her headphones off, shaking her red curls and putting them back in their normal state of arrayed disarray. Without looking back, she went inside and the light outside the apartment building flickered off, as if it was dying a slow death.

NOVEMBER 2011-_Isabelle_

Let me clear one thing up: I'm not a bitch. I'm just high maintenance. I like to know what's going on and I like having people take care of me, even though I'm perfectly capable myself.

I need to be confident in where my boyfriend is and what he's doing, because sometimes boys like Simon who are new to the whole 'being popular' thing get a little off track and do things they regret, like. . . sleeping with other girls for instance.

Maia and I were sitting in my favourite spa, getting the full treatment. Javier was painting my nails a champagne colour; while sexy surfer boy Jordan Kyle, who went to school with us and was Maia's new bf, was painting Maia's nails a fierce Hollywood Glam red colour. "Looooove that colour on you, Maia," I said, giving her a sweet smile.

She echoed by smile, cooing over the way my champagne nail polish went with my creamy skin colour. "Your nails look awesome, Iz. I'm thinking of getting my blonde highlights redone, what do you think?" Maia asked.

"I'm not doing that part for you. God, the guys already think I'm so whipped." Jordan said.

Maia and I ignored him. "I say, go for it, Maia. They looked really nice before, and Spanish Boy seems to like the idea, too." I replied. I didn't really want to talk about Maia's hair, I wanted to vent over how I was pretty sure Simon was cheating on me with his best friend, Clary.

Maia gave me another smile. "Okay, I will. Now tell me what's on your mind, Isabelle. You _never_ invite people to go to the spa with you on weekdays. I know something's up."

_Finally_. "Okay, well I don't mean to be insecure, but I think Simon might be cheating on me with his old best friend. After we did it a few nights ago, she called and he got a blush-y and walked out of the room to the bathroom! What am I supposed to think? Maybe he went in there and had phone sex with her! Aren't I enough for him?" I said. Okay, so it would've had to be the quickest phone sex ever, but whatever, it could've happened.

"Oh, you poor thing! Are you inviting her to your party? I don't know maybe you could like make out with Simon right in front of her or something to send the message home?" Maia suggested, blowing on one of her hands.

"I let him invite her. She thinks it's just a little get together, so don't let her find out it's a party. And Maia," the other girl raised her eyebrows, "you're _way_ better off without Sebastian. I had no idea that you were smart and not a total ice bitch."

NOVEMBER 2011-_Jace_

Luke, Dorothea, and I had breakfast together the next morning. Apparently it was one of Dorothea's kid's birthdays back in Cuba or something, so she made us a cake for breakfast. She was just finishing icing it while Luke and I were sitting at the table making small-talk.

"So, languages. How are you with them?" Luke asked.

I answered truthfully. "I can have a full conversation with Dorothea in her native Spanish dialect, and I can speak Latin, English obviously, Greek—of both the modern and ancient varieties, French, Russian, Irish, Swedish, Italian, Dutch, Czech, Filipino, and Danish fluently. I can also speak a little Romanian, but it's rusty, and some Icelandic."

He looked impressed. "Wow, that's impressive. So we don't need to go over languages, you know, if we ever start _going over_stuff." He grabbed the pitcher of water off the table and started pouring it in his glass, putting me on an edge. He was sure to spill, but how do you help another guy without insulting his masculinity?

He poured it right to the very top, and then did short little spurts of pouring until I snatched the pitcher from him and set it down on the table. He snorted, clearing finding something about that action humorous.

"Asswipe," I said, shaking my head at him.

"You have the humour of a marmot," he said, still laughing.

I was saved from retorting by Dorothea walking in with the cake. It looked delicious and I was pretty sure that it was chocolate. There was whip cream for icing, with strawberries along the edges on the top. She placed the cake down and sat in her spot.

"So," Luke, ever the talker, said, "I heard someone sneaking in late last night. Where'd you go?"

I rolled my eyes at him as Dorothea made an _oh_ face. "Isn't the good thing about having no parents is that you have no parents?" I asked Luke. "Get off my back."

He held up his hands in surrender and took a sip from his glass of water. Below the table, his dog, Alaric, was looking up at me hopefully, probably thinking that I was the most likely to give him a piece of the forbidden human food. "But, uh, since we last talked, I've been thinking and, is there any eye operation? Because I saw, like, every doctor in the country." I ignored the dog at my feet.

Luke kicked his foot out, connecting with Alaric side. The dog let out a little yelp and retreated to the couch in the other room. "Miracle only," he said, "but, thanks."Dorothea passed out the cake and I stabbed my fork into mine.

Dorothea broke the silence. "So, where you go to last night?"

Playing with my cake, I took a breath and said, "I went to see about this girl."

A smile broke out on Dorothea's face. "_Estoy tan feliz por ti_." I'm so happy for you.

I was pretty damn happy for me, too. "I didn't even talk to her." An exasperated tone entered my voice as I continued murdering my chocolate cake.

"Baby steps," Luke smiled, looking mischievous. "You think you might say 'Wassup'?" Luke dragged the word out comically and I smiled down at my destroyed cake.

"The benefit of you being blind is you can't see how much you should so _never_ say 'wassup'." I told him.

Luke stood up, leaving his cake untouched. "Baby steps. Come we must celebrate."

Luke's idea of celebrating of hitting golf balls out into New York City in broad daylight from the roof, each time either yelling "Fore!" or "Wassup!" And Luke, being the ever so talented blind guy, was able to hit the golf ball at just the right angle every time. He was a better, whiter version of Tiger Woods.

I snuck out to watch Clary again. Some way, somehow, she had given me hope that maybe I actually could break the curse. She went to the same convenience store again to get coffee. This time, instead of finishing her loop and going back to her apartment, she stopped in at the Medical Clinic and retrieved a faded brown messenger bag. "Thanks," she told the man as he opened the door for her. As she was about to leave, she gave him a one-armed hug.

They walked down the street together, paper bags in their hands, and stopped to give the packages to men on the street. The man that Clary was helping took the bag gratefully and unwrapped it, revealing a sub sandwich. "Here's a sandwich, bud." She said.

The man gave her a yellow-toothed smile. "Thanks, how's your dad, stayin' outta trouble?"

Clary gave him a gentle smile. "He's trying his best, that's all I can ask." With that, she left and waved goodbye to the man who held the door open for her. Clary waited for the traffic to slow down before crossing the street and walking back into her apartment building, calling "Dad! I'm home." as she walked in the door and up the stairs. When there was no answer, I could hear her voice again, calling "Dad?" There was a pause, then, "Uh! Come _on_!"

She ran back out the building and looked around. "_Dad!_" When no one answered again, she got this look on her face like she knew what was going on. She walked around the building and up some stairs in what looked like a back alley's back alley. There were voices coming from that direction and as she disappeared out of view I took a deep breath and dashed across the street. I held on to the chain-link fence, trying to get a better look.

"—I . . . I don't have it. Please, please, just another week!" a voice was saying, begging. It sounded like her father from when I watched them through the mirror.

"Don't you are screw around, you sorry-ass addict," a younger voice said.

Then, Clary's voice. "Dad, not this again!" I couldn't see what was happening, but I had a bad feeling about it.

"I'm sorry—so sorry, Clary." That was her father.

"Hey, shut up!" The younger male voice said. "And you get outta here."

"Anson, please. We'll get you your money.

I climbed up the side of the chain-link fence and hopped over in time to here, "Give me and my brother our money," and see the younger man holding up a gun.

I scaled the side of the stairs, too and hopped on the man's shoulders before he could shoot anyone. Clary let out a scream, not necessarily at me, but at everything going on in general. I knocked the him to the side as Clary cried, "No!" and saw what looked like the man's twin about to push her father down the steps, as he had gone after the dropped gun. Clary lunged at him in a brave but futile attempt to save her father, but the man knocked her aside and down the steps. She fell with a thud and I jumped down after her, picking her up with ease and running as fast as I could back to their building. Having her in my arms felt nice, like I was holding a little piece of sunshine, or an angel. I placed her down carefully just inside the door of their apartment, taking a book out of her bag to place under her head, and unwrapped her scarf to further cushion it. Once I was one, I ran back to where I had left her father and the brother. I heard two gunshots and a thud, and I desperately hoped they weren't received by Clary's father, him being a horrible man or not.

I ran up the stairs to see her father holding the gun and the brother lying in a puddle of blood. The man who was originally threatening Clary's father had disappeared, probably retreating from the maniac with the gun. Clary's father saw me and lifted the gun up in his shaking hand, rasping out, "Where is she?"

I knocked the gun out of his hand, not really wanting to die when I thought I had a chance of breaking the curse. A voice from above said, "You killed him. You killed my brother. Your daughter for my brother, someday, I'll find her!" With that the man whose brother was killed climbed the rest of the stairs. I held my arm in front of Clary's father who looked like he was going to make a run for the man.

"No, wait," I said.

"What do you need?" Clary's father asked, his voice quivering. "C'mon what do you want?" He took a step forward.

_This is my chance_. "I want her," I said firmly. When her father looked unsure I added, "I want to protect her."

"I can protect her!" he burst.

I closed my eyes, and then looked right into Clary's fathers. His were rimmed with red that meant he probably smoked a ton of pot a day, along with God knows what else. "Did you hear him? If she stays with me, she'll be safe!"

"I don't know who you are. What makes you think I should trust you with the only thing important in my life!" he said.

I went on as if I hadn't heard him speak. "But if she leaves . . . if she leaves . . ." I pulled my phone out of my pocket and snapped a picture of the dead body and Clary's fathers face. "If she leaves the cops will get these!"

"No, no this is just too twisted, too twisted!" the man protested. I could see where Clary got her stubbornness from.

I looked him straight in the eyes again and said, "So is killing a man."

He looked at me dejectedly, and then whispered, "What's she going to think of you?"

I knew I had won when he said that. "Bring her to this address tomorrow." I took a pen and piece of scrap paper out of the messenger bag that Clary had dropped sometime during the fray. I scribbled my new address onto the page and put the slip in his shaking hand. "Remember, bring her or the cops will be getting the pictures." I didn't mean to take Clary by force, but her father was putting up a whole lot of resistance for someone who treats his daughter like crap.

I ran home, away from the police sirens and the graffiti filled back alleys that Clary seemed to know so well. I didn't know much, but what I did know was that I might finally have a chance to break this curse. Clary had me captivated from the first day I met her. I was hers.

_So I won't hesitate no more, no more__  
__It cannot wait I'm sure__  
__There's no need to complicate__  
__Our time is short__  
__This is our fate, I'm yours__  
—I'm Yours_, Jason Mraz

**So, I hope you liked. Cuz I did. I love Simon's little bit of poetry. That's actually based on a conversation me and my family had at dinner a few weeks ago (the whole 'Roses are red' thing, not the 'But I love doin' it with you' part :P)So, let me know what you think. Oh and just a side note: Luke is the tutor and Valentine is Clary's daddy. Emil and Anson Pangborn (from _City of Fallen Angels_. . . hehe) are the twins mentioned at the ending. I know they aren't actually twins, but they kinda fit the role and as a plus they are brothers. So, review and tell me what you think! I promise to gift every reviewer with a teaser from chapter 8, unless they are an anonymous review cuz, well, you know.**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce**


	8. Home

**Hey! Yes, I know it's been a while. I'm updating this now because I'm going on vacation for a week and won't have access to internet. So enjoy!**

** Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Enjoy!**

8. Home

_Yes, I made the choice__  
__For papa, I will stay__  
__But I don't deserve to lose my freedom in this way__  
__You monster!__  
__If you think that what you've done is right, well then__  
__You're a fool!__  
__Think again!_

—_Home_, Beauty and the Beast

NOVEMBER 2011-_Jace_

I stayed up most of the night setting up the second floor for Clary. There wasn't much to do as the room had been set up for my dad until he decided that he wasn't going to show. I moved my dad's computer desk and the computer he had set up to the far side of the room and put the bed in the middle. I figured that I could also buy Clary anything she needed to make it homier.

Nervous jitters kept me up for most of the night. I got a bit of sleep between finishing setting up Clary's room and two in the morning, but after that I went downstairs to make coffee and watch the hockey highlights from last night. The Rangers had lost against the Toronto Maple Leafs, a shocker to all Rangers fans, and I wanted to see how Toronto had managed to make that miracle occur.

Sipping my coffee, I turned the TV on to ESPN. They were replaying Don Cherry, Canadian hockey almost-legend, doing his Coaches Corner speech. He was going off about how the Rangers were completely off their game; basically handing the Leaf's there win on a gold platter. Watching the highlights, I had to agree. Dubinsky, the Ranger's top goal scorer handed the Leaf's goalie, Reimer, the puck on all of his shots, and the team was just all around not up to their usual strength.

I went to take another sip of my coffee and noticed that it was empty. Glancing at the clock, I swore under my breath. It was only six thirty, and Clary wasn't going to be here until closer to nine or ten.

NOVEMBER 2011_-Clary_

I packed my life into neat little boxes. Books in one box, clothes in another box, and CD's in another. I _hated_ my dad for doing this to me! What right did he have to make me give up my _whole life_ because of some _stupid_ mistake _he_ made?

I took a deep breath, trying to slow my breathing and make the angry burning in my face go away. _Deep breaths; calm down. Think soothing thoughts. Relax. Everything's fine. You're going to be fine. _

I collapsed onto my bed, stripped bare of its sheets. The coils from the worn-out mattress jabbed into my skin in a way that was comforting enough to make the pain ignorable. This had been my room for as long as I could remember. My mom, Jocelyn, had died when I was three and after the funeral, my dad sold the house and moved us here. Soon after, he turned to drinking and doing drugs to 'erase the pain' .On my seventh birthday, Child Services turned up at the door after getting an anonymous tip that I wasn't being taken care of properly. My father and I made a pact that day. He'd try harder to get a job and quit his horrible addiction, and I'd do everything in my power to make sure no one could ever tell that my dad wasn't fit to raise me.

I got good marks in school and won a scholarship to Alicante Academy High School, New York's most prestigious private school. And as soon as I turned fifteen and could legally work, I got a part-time job at the Medical Clinic down the street from out apartment.

I've made a life for myself without his help, so why can he just take it away without a second thought? Yes, I know the story. With Blackwell dead, Pangborn was on a rampage, threatening to kill me to even out the fact that my father shot his brother. I was being sent to the house of one of my dad's old 'friends' sons house so that I would be safe. Well, maybe I don't want to be safe. Did he ever think of that? No. Did he for one second stop and think about my feelings on this whole thing? No, no, no, no. Why? Because my father, Valentine Morgenstern, is a complete and total asshat.

"Clary! Cab's here! Time to go! Are your boxes packed?" My dad's voice came from down the stairs.

"Yes, I'm coming, Dad," I said, taking one last look at my orange walls with little pinpricks from where I had stuck thumbtacks in it to hang up my artwork. _Goodbye life_.

NOVEMBER_-Jace_

I felt like I had just drunk a whole pack of Redbull on my own. I was pacing, pacing around my room, the dining room, the living room. Just . . . pacing. Luke's dog was looking at me like I was insane, and he was probably right.

Dorothea and Luke were getting a kick out of my nerves. Luke was sitting on the couch, reading some book with his fingers, while Dorothea was sweeping up the kitchen. Every once in a while one would walk over to the door and motion opening it, then bursting out laughing when they saw, or sensed, me hopping over furniture to get out of sight.

Let's just say that when the door rang for real, I was prepared. "Dorothea, Luke, its Jonathan, remember? Jonathan Wayland, not Jace Herondale." Then I ran up to the very top of the staircase and sat there, so I could see what was going on but they couldn't see me.

The doorbell rang, and I could see the silhouettes of Clary and her father. The doorbell rang, echoing throughout the empty house. I could hear Dorothea's footsteps making their way to the door, dragging the heavy vacuum behind her.

The door opened, revealing an angry Clary and her father. "Hello, welcome. Please, come in." Dorothea said.

Clary stepped in, dragging her bags behind her. The first thing I noticed about her was that her hair wasn't in its usual state of arrayed-disarray. It was straightened in a way that made her haircut look severe, with razor-edged bangs and choppy layers. It made her look beautiful in an injured way—like a post-Chris Brown Rihanna.

Her father tried to follow her in, but Clary stuck her arm out, barring his entry. "No. You can leave now, Dad. You've dropped me off." Her voice was hard, angry.

He had a genuine look of concern on his face. "But Clarissa—"

She cut him off. "No, Dad. The deal was that I give up everything—school, friends, _everything_— and in exchange, you leave me alone. You don't visit, you don't call, and you don't text. I don't even want to get any emails from you. You can go," she turned her back to him, arms crossed across her chest.

Dorothea turned to Clary's father. "She be fine here, I promise. She wishes you to leave, have a good day." With that, Dorothea shut the door in his face.

Clary turned to look at the staircase, almost looking right at me, and called, "Okay, so I'm here. You got what you wanted. But I swear, if you come anywhere near me, I will taser your ass." A chill ran up my spine, I hadn't expected her to be this hostile.

Dorothea came to the rescue, taking Clary's hand in hers in a way that was—_hopefully_—taken as a comforting gesture. "Come dear, I show you your beautiful rooms."

Clary snatched her hand back as if Dorothea's was poisoned. "Fine, whatever. I just want to lie down."

I pulled my hood back up over my head and slipped around the corner into Luke's room, where he had retreated to and was reading a Braille version of the newspaper. "She's not happy," he guessed, never taking his hand off the newspaper.

I sighed, but not so loudly that Clary and Dorothea would be able to hear me. "Yeah, but I don't know why I wasn't expecting that. I mean, my dad's a dick, too, but when he didn't show up here day after day, I was a little upset. For her, this must be worse because she thinks that he sent her away with some total stranger."

Luke turned his head and smiled at me, then, putting down his newspaper, he placed one hand on my shoulder and said, "That means you'll just have to work harder."

NOVEMBER 2011-_Clary_

The room had a computer in it. And a TV. And its own private bathroom. What it _didn't _have was a phone. That's the first thing I noticed. I mean, it wasn't a problem for me because I had my cell phone, but then I thought, _maybe there's a reason that there's no phone here_. And that's what scared me.

First, I was mad. What reason did this unnamed person have to keep me prisoner here? I hadn't done anything wrong. I got good grades. I helped to pay the bills at my house. I kept my dad, mostly, out of trouble. Why did _I_ have to give up everything important in my life?

Second, I was a _really_ impressed by the lengths this person went to set the room up for me. _Not_. This person knew _nothing_ about me. The walls were painted a bland shade of pink that I supposed was . . . pretty . . . if you tilted your head to the left, then to the right, and then closed you eyes . . . Well, no, not even then. Yeah, the paint job was actually pretty good, but the colour just wasn't me. I'd only been here for twenty minutes and I was already longing for my bright orange walls at home. The walls I painted with my mom after I got out of my Teletubbies phase and a week before she died in that car accident.

I looked at the shape of the room, trying to envision it with a bit more . . . _me_. The one wall was the perfect place to hang art pieces, and the window seat was the perfect place to paint. Okay, yeah, I could do this. I could ask whatever creep was keeping me here to get me an über-expensive easel and paint set or I would scream. I have an _excellent_ scream.

I thought about the party, sorry I mean _get together_, that Simon had invited me to at his girlfriend's house and how it was two days from now, and I was stuck here. Oh, well, I didn't really want to go anyway. Isabelle was a bitch and Simon was becoming a mega-asshat. He _actually_ had the nerve to ask me, his _best friend_, if wearing a bit more mascara and a push-up bra when I was around him would kill me. Yeah, what a great friend. He's a real winner.

He didn't used to be like this. We used to sit around watching anime together and play Call of Duty and read manga's and comic books together. We were _normal_ best friends. Then Simon's wealthy-ass great aunt died and left Simon and his family a lot of money. Like, a _lot_. His great aunt owned a million dollar corporation or something along those lines that sold aerosol cans of spray cheese or something stupidly ingenious like that. So Simon's mom, Elaine, did what any other family would do with the money, and sold their little house in Brooklyn and bought an expensive house in the city. His mom quit her job, took some night school courses and got a new job as a journalist for the New York Times gossip column. She sent Simon to the top private school in the city and bought him whatever the hell he wanted. BMW convertible? Check. All designer clothing? Double check. Asshole attitude? Triple check.

Simon's one of those people, who although is obsessed with killing virtual Nazi's, is so _freaking_ naive and vulnerable sometimes. He thinks that Isabelle really likes him, when no she's just there for the money and the sex. He thinks that they are all going to be friends forever, even if it doesn't work out with him and Isabelle. Another no, and as soon as he dumps Isabelle's slutty ass, no one's even gonna remember him. No one but me, and by that time I'll probably be so fed up with him that I won't take him back. I'll go off to college in . . . Canada or something like that and forget that someone named Simon Lewis ever entered my life. So _there_.

I decided to message him, at least on Facebook, to let him know that I wouldn't be able to make it. The computer, a _Mac_ (cue little girlish shriek of excitement), had excellent Internet connection and within seconds I was logged onto my Facebook account. I scrolled through my list of four friends—Dad, Simon, Uncle Hodge, and my cousin Jem—and clicked on Simon's name. I sent him a quick message saying, _Can't make it to Isabelle's party. It's cuz of a surprise family reunion up in Alaska with some of Dad's relatives, so I probably won't be in school for a few weeks. I'll miss you! :) _I clicked _send_ then went back to my cousin's profile. _I'm in hell. Wish you were here_, I wrote to my cousin, wishing that he could be here to hold me and tell that everything's okay. But I know that there's about as much a chance that I marry into royalty as him moving back here from England.

NOVEMBER 2011-_Jace_

I sat in my room, head in my hands. It had been half a day since Clary had locked herself in her room and I was tired of waiting around for her to come out, since it was pretty evident that she wasn't going to. I walked downstairs to find Dorothea in the kitchen, pulling some kind of breaded chicken out of the oven. A pot of noodles was sitting on the stove, the colander already set up to drain the water from said noodles when they were finished cooking. Dorothea saw my staring at the food and said, "Hungry?"

I nodded, I was but I had better use for the food. "Can I have a tray? To, you know, bring up for Clary?"

Dorothea gave me a small smile, and then started pulling plates and silverware from the cupboard. "I help you, but I suggest you just give her time. She's scared and lonely and not sure what to do. Give her time." She passed me a tray with the food on it.

I took the tray and, taking a deep breath, walked up the stairs to Clary's room. I tentatively knocked on the door, nervous and excited at the same time. I wasn't expecting her to answer, but I had my hood drawn anyway. "Go away!" came her reply.

I put the tray down and tried knocking again. "I brought you food!"

"Drop it and leave, asshat! I wasn't joking about tasering your ass! In fact, I have horrible aim, so it would probably go a little lower and in the front instead of the back." The door stayed shut.

I expelled an angry breath of air. "Inviting," she said sarcastically. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath through my nose. _She's mad. She has every right to be._

I left, going back downstairs. "Dorothea," I said, approaching the maid, "I need you to do me a favour. Go to _Louis Vuitton_, and go buy that new white purse that Aline was dying waiting for it to come out. You know which one I'm talking about. And no, I don't want your input, just go get the bag. _Please_."

Dorothea complied, and fifteen minutes later, I was placing a _Louis Vuitton_ box outside Clary's bedroom. I hid behind the wall, fingers crossed that she would like the bag. If she didn't . . . well, I had no idea what I'd use it for. Maybe I'd wrap it up and give it to Kaelie as a please-reverse-this-hell-you've-given-me present. Or maybe I'd just mail it to my grandmother in Europe.

_Showtime_. She opened the door, crouching down to open the box. She had her hair pulled up into a high bun and was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a grey pullover sweatshirt that said _'University of Oxford, United Kingdom'_. Maybe her mother was an alumnus of the school.

She opened the box and lifted out the white bag. "_Lumineuse PM_," she read out, rolling her eyes and dropping the bag. She retreated back into her room, _sans_ the purse. I placed my hands against the wall to steady myself as red anger tinged my vision. _Okay, so maybe she's not a purse girl. But _all_ girls like one thing: jewellery._

I ran back down the stairs. "I need one more thing. Jewellery. Go to _Bulgari_ and get her those dangly ones from the website with the little blue, white and purple stones." She gave me a long look, but shrugged and went anyway.

I was pacing again when she got back. I had all this nervous pent-up energy to spend and I wasn't going about doing that in a productive way. For as long as I can remember, I've always paced when I was nervous. Not that that happened very often, but, yes, on the off occasion, it did.

"I get you the jewellery. But I warn you, is not a good idea." Dorothea said, handing me the little gift bag.

I took it. "Thanks, but no thanks. I have a good feeling about this jewellery." I brought the bag upstairs and set it in front of Clary's door and knocked. I slipped around the corner like I did before, watching Clary open her door and find the bag.

She removed the box from inside the bag and opened it gently, unsure whether it was safe to open or not. When she did get it open, she took one of the earrings out and held it in front of her, then set it back in and closed up the box. Shaking her head, she retreated back into her room. I sat on the floor, my head between my hands, groaning. Dorothea walked by me, shaking her head and stifling a laugh. I got up and walked after her.

Waving my father's credit card at her, I said, "Go down to _Barneys_ and buy whatever expensive perfume I was always having you buy for Aline before."

Dorothea shook her head at me. "She's not the type, Jace. Everything I've seen, everything you've told me, I can see she's not like that."

"Fine, then go to _Barneys_ and buy her a pair of _Louboutins_ or _Prada_ shoes." I said.

She shook her head. "You're trying to buy her. Girls like her no like that."

"I'm not trying to buy her." I said incredulously. "I'm trying to make her hate me a little less."

Dorothea gave me a look that said _poor you_. "Think about _her_, what she likes, who she is. Then you will know what to get her."

I stood there with my eyes closed picturing Clary walking out of that convenience store. "Okay, so here's what I want you to get for me . . ."

NOVEMBER 2011-_Alec_

When my sister is on a rampage, everyone steps back. Her boyfriend's childhood friend just refused to go to her party, and to put it nicely, she was _beyond_ mad. To her, that was the _ultimate_ insult.

Me, I was _way_ out of the house and her range. I was at the airport, a passport in my hand and carry-on at my side. Why was I there? Well, for one I was there to avoid my sister's anger, and secondly I was here to meet my boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend. Got a problem with that? Well, deal.

I'm sort of mad for two reasons. One, I had to sneak out of my house to get here because even though I bought the plane tickets with my own money, my parents wouldn't let me go, and two, I'm going to France to visit my _best friend_ at boarding school and he wouldn't even acknowledge me on Facebook. So, when I see him, he is _so_ getting a piece of my mind. I was even planning on coming out of the closet to him, because I hate keeping secrets from him and I know he does too.

I felt someone breathing down the back of my neck and I whipped around to see Magnus, my . . . er . . . _boyfriend_ standing behind me with a grin on his face. "You are _so_ gullible, Alexander." He planted his lips against mine, until I noticed people staring and pushed him away.

"_Magnus!_" I hissed, looking around to make sure no one was still gawking. "We talked about not doing that in public!"

Magnus rolled his glitter encrusted eyes at me. Call me old fashioned and the most in the closet guy _ever_, but would it kill Magnus to be a little less _flamboyant?_ "Sorry, Alexander, I just couldn't resist. You look _so_ _delectable_ in that black sweater of yours." He proceeded to run his fingers through my hair and purr like a cat.

"_Magnus Bane_, stop _touching my hair!_" I hissed at him again, swatting his hands away and putting on my no-nonsense face.

A voice came on over the intercom. "All passengers attending flight 2275 please report to the deck as your flight if now loading."

"Time to go Alexander! Places to go, sights to see, Fashion Weeks to participate in. Ooh, and did I mention? You're my top model." Magnus said, taking me by the arm and dragging me to the flight deck. Oh well, here I come.

NOVEMBER 2011-_Clary_

"You've reached the cell phone of Jem Carstairs. I'm either away from the phone or I'm avoiding you, so leave a message after the tone!"

"Hey Jem, its Clary. You'd _never_ guess what happened to me and where I am. Seriously, you could guess for a million years and _never ever_ get it. So, I'm going to tell you. Dad started buying whatever he's doing now from the Pangborn's, you know, the brother's I told you about. He forgot to pay them for his last few 'hits' or whatever you want to call them, so Emil and Anson came after him. One of the brothers' pushed me down the stairs and I was knocked out, but I woke up in the house, so some mysterious stranger must've carried me in. Anyway, Dad killed Emil, so now Anson wants my head on a gold platter in exchange for my father taking his brother's life. So I'm at what you would call a 'safe house', where Anson can't trace me to and come after me. But so far, this 'safe house' feels like a frickin prison! I had to give up school, the clinic, everything that made me _me_, so that my dad can sleep well at night!"

There was a knock at the door, but I figured it was someone leaving me more 'Please forgive me, I'm bribing you!' presents. Not my thing. "And I _know_ its life or death, but it still feels like my dad is tearing away everything I've ever worked for! I've been saving up for that France-Italy trip for three years now, and then this happens and all of a sudden, my definite leaving is a 'maybe'! A _maybe_!" There was another knock, but I ignored it again, thinking, _maybe they'll leave me alone_.

"And he has absolutely _no right_ to do this! I hate everything! I hate missing school, I hate my dad, I hate the person who's keeping me here, I even hate missing Simon and the stupid party-get together they invited me to. I just hate . . . hating. You know me; I can't even tell my dad to eff off when he asks me for money. I'm all talk, but no action. I wish I could be more like those people who can just go around giving people the finger, yeah, they're total assholes, but at least they're fearless."

Suddenly the door opened. I whipped around. "Jem, I gotta go. Call me back when you can." I hung up, ending the call. A masked figure, holding a package of assorted types of Skittles and Mike and Ikes. I usually make an effort not to scream, but today was different. I let out a shrill shriek.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

The figure set the box down and retreated. "Jesus, you didn't have to scream at me."

"That's your fault for wearing the ski mask. What the hell's that about?" I placed one hand over my heart and took deep breaths.

"I didn't want to freak you out!" The masked figure said.

"Yeah, and the ski mask didn't freak me out. Why am I even here?" I crossed me arms across my chest.

"Because . . . because you need to be protected!" the figure burst out.

I set my features to a pissed-off expression. "I can take care of myself. I've been doing that for years now. Why is this so different?"

The figure closed their eyes for a minute. "Because your father is scared for you. He's afraid of what might happen to you. Because of how much he loves you. Which he kept saying over and over again."

I'd like to believe that story. "Fine. And . . . thank you for the candy."

The masked figure's voice came out kind of breathless. "You're welcome." He retreated out of the room and shut my door. I picked up the candy, then sat on the edge of my bed. _Pull yourself together, Clarissa. You have to be strong and independent. Suck it up and deal. This is your new home, whether you like it or not. _

_Is this home?__  
__Is this what I must learn to believe in?__  
__Try to find__  
__Something good in this tragic place?__  
__Just in case__  
__I should stay here forever__  
__Held in this empty space__  
__Oh, that won't be easy__  
__I know the reason why__  
__My heart's far, far away__  
__Home's a lie_

—_Home_, Beauty and the Beast

**So, what did you think? Please review! As soon as I get back, all my reviewers will get excerpts from the next chapter. I actually loved this chapter's song, it was my solo from my vocals class last year, so I know all the lyrics by heart. I thought it was so perfect, well mostly cuz _Beastly_ is a modernized _Beauty and the Beast_. If you're wondering, this song is from when Belle is locked in the cell. I figure Clary's room is sort of like her cell. **

**Please review!**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


	9. Bleed

**Hey! I know, you probably are wondering what has taken me so long to update. The truth is, I don't really have a good excuse. All I can say is, WRITERS BLOCK. Trust me, it sucks. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story and put up with all of my disappearances. This is the shortest chapter I've written in a long time, but I wanted to give you guys something, and this is what I came up with. It's basically two days worth of letters from Jace to Clary , talking about his feelings, his plans, etc. I think they're pretty good, even though they are unbelievably short. Oh and I have great news! My beta is back! Yes, you read this right, my wonderful beta unscenced is back and she edited this chapter for me. So now you won't have to put up with my sometimes ridiculous spelling mistakes! Anyway, onto my filler chapter. **

**Disclaimer: You know what I own and don't own.**

9. Bleed

_I feel like I'm drowning in ice water  
My lips have turned a shade of blue  
I'm frozen with this fear  
That you may disappear  
Before I've given you the truth_

—_Bleed_, Hot Chelle Rae

NOVEMBER 2011-_Jace_

**_November 21st, 2011_**

_Dear Clary,_

_I know how much you probably hate me right now. It's two in the morning and you arrived here yesterday. I was a jerk. I tried to buy your friendship, but I should know by now that that never works I guess I'll never learn. I was thinking about letters the other day. Not emails, or postcards, or text messages, but real, long-hand letters, written on real paper. It's sad that so few people now take the time to write them. So I decided that from today on, I'm going to write to you every day for a long time. Because at this moment, I think I'm in danger of falling in love with you. Damn, I shouldn't have written that._

_When I first found out you were going to be staying here, I didn't know what to expect. My first thought was that if your dad was an old friend of my dad, you were going to be whiny, bratty, stuck-up, and most likely rich. My dad and I don't get on well, as you can imagine and once upon a time, that might've been my type. All I knew about you from my dad was that have red hair and like to read. What you like to read though, I have no idea._

_Now that you're here, I can see that your personality is more than what can be described in a few hundred words. You're independent and completely able to take care of yourself; you're stubborn, but only in a good way and you don't take crap from anybody. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're a strong, independent woman who doesn't need _anyone_to take care of her, and I hope you understand why I agreed to have you here. I don't want you to hate me._

_But sometimes, lately, even I hate me. I feel like nothing is worthwhile because, in the grand scheme of things, I'm nobody. I used to think I was someone, someone important, but I'm not. Not now. I was someone that people would kill to be. I was popular, wealthy, _important_, but that changed._

_Now I'm nobody._

_But for some weird reason, you make me feel like I don't need to be somebody in order to exist. It's probably the best feeling in the world. I feel like the best gift in the world is that I can be around you._

_There's something about you that makes me wish that I had been a better person, before. I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this; I guess I feel like I can be myself around you. I've also learned lately that there are some feelings I shouldn't act upon. That's one of them._

_I'll tell you this, though: if I had a penny for every horrible thing I've done, I'd have enough to buy a fully decked out mansion. No matter how cheesy that sounds._

_You're probably reading this, thinking, _He's crazy. Honest to God, crazy_. And you're probably right. But I'm going to prove you wrong. I swear to God, I'm going to become someone worthy of you. Someone you want._

_J.C. Wayland_

* * *

**_November 22nd, 2011_**

_When I said I was going to write to you every day, I wasn't joking. I am. Today, I spent the whole day thinking about why some people can be so cruel to their children. Take my father, for example, who just dumped me on my ass here because he could no longer stand to look at me. Stupid son of a bitch. Or my mom, who ran off with some sports talent scout when I was in kindergarten. Did they not think about me, how that would affect me? Maybe I was such a horrible kid because my parents were both deserters, leaving their only damn son just when he could use their help the most!_

_If I were you right now, I'd be thinking about how pathetic and whiny the person, me, writing this sounds. Honestly, I'm not trying to be miserable; it's just what I feel._

_So, this morning, I thought about this: how can I get you to finally come out of your room? Stupid as it sounds, I mulled over that one question for a few hours, until I came up with my answer. What do you like? At first, I thought that I had no idea and then, there it was right on your Facebook page. _'Missing my art supplies :('_is what it said. And that's when I knew._

_So now I have a project and a purpose. I'm going to build you the best damn art studio you've ever seen, complete with a kiln for pottery, a darkroom for photography and prints, and an easel for painting. I spent all afternoon researching what the best art supplies are and where I can get them from. So I ordered them. You're getting water colour paints, water colour pencils, and water colour markers. Oil paints, pottery supplies, acrylic paints, sketching pencil, sketching paper, and the list goes on and on. I even bought you cameras. And yes, you'll actually be able to use them. Outside._

_I'm not quite finished yet and nothing has arrived. Luke keeps looking at me like I'm an idiot, even though he can't see me. Don't tell him I said this, but I honestly don't think he gets it. He can't see how miserable and lonely and angry you're probably feeling. And no matter how I try to describe the sight to him, he just shakes his head and gives me a pitying look, like he thinks I'm trying to buy you again._

_But I'm not this time. This time it's more. I want you to feel comfort here. I want you to feel home._

_And speaking of buying you, I'm sorry about getting you all those worthless gifts. You know, the funny thing is that Dorothea told me to leave you alone and stop buying you expensive gifts a million times while I was sending her out to buy shoes, purses, you name it, and then when she suggested to me that I should start thinking, I told her to buy you the one gift you accepted. She's some kind of psychic or something, I swear._

_Anyway, back to your art room in the making. I know you're going to love it, and I can't wait for you to see it and enjoy all my hard work. Maybe someday soon, when it's finished, we can officially meet and you can show me some of your paintings and sketches, because I'm sure they're great. I hope the room will be finished soon so you can enjoy it._

_J.C. Wayland_

**So, I know this one was a lot of filler, but I'd still like to know what you thought! I'm going on vacation next week, so I'm going to try to give you one more chapter before that, but if I don't, this might be the last chapter I can give you before school starts :( Anyway, review for me, and have a great day!**

**xoxo, **

**FireandIce95**


	10. Scared of Lonely

**Hi! I'm back! First of all, I'm going to apologize. I am absolutely sure you all know how busy life can be, especially with both school and a part-time job. Seriously, I have math this semester and I _ drown_ in homework some days. Not fun. So, I am apologizing for taking so long to update. I'm really sorry. From now on, I'm going to make an effort to update more often. Thank you all for sticking with me. This chapter is all Clary and Iz. Yes, I'm giving Isabelle a story line. From this point on, my story is going to deviate a little from the original plot of _Beastly_. I figure that makes it more interesting, having something unknown. I'm going to stop boring you with this AN and let you read now. Thanks for your patience. You're all fabulous.**

**Disclaimer: You know what I own and don't own.**

**Enjoy!**

10. Scared of Lonely

_I'm in this fight and I'm swinging and my arms are getting tired_

_I'm trying to beat this emptiness but I'm running out of time_

_I'm sinking in the sand and I can barely stand_

_I'm lost in this dream; I need you to hold me_

_I'm scared of lonely_

—_Scared Of Lonely_, Beyoncé

NOVEMBER 2011-_Clary_

_I run down the hall, doors surrounding me. They all have signs on them that say 'Home Sweet Home', 'Home is where the heart is' and phrases like that. I reach to open every door, hoping it'll take me home. I keep hoping ruby slippers will appear on my feet so I can click my heels and say 'There's no place like home'. It never happens. Each door I open leads to the same place: the house I'm in now. They lead to my room here, the kitchen, the living room, the dining room. Never to my home, my true home. The run-down hell-hole I used to share with my father, my stupid, drug-addict father. I'm at a dead-end and I can't go anywhere. The walls are closing in on me, suffocating me, squeezing me to death. They're like a prison, a stone prison. Made to kill, not hold._

I took a huge breath, wrestling to get my eyes open and my heart rate back to normal. I was completely entwined in my sheets and had to twist to get myself out of it. I looked around at my surroundings, needing to reassure myself that I wasn't still asleep and trapped in the hallway anymore. It was a horrible dream.

I turned and looked at the clock on my bedside table. Three thirty in the _morning_. I kick my blankets down to the bottom of my bed and stand up carefully, not wanting to make a sound and wake someone up. This could be my only chance to explore the house without people trying to win me over with presents. No matter how curious I may be, there was no chance I was going to forgive them this easily.

I got dressed quietly in a pair of yoga pants and a '_London 2012 Summer Olympics_' hoodie my cousin bought me from England. I pulled my curly hair up into a messy knot on the top of my head and slid on some fuzzy socks. When I was sure that I wasn't missing anything important for looking around the house, I opened the door to my room and slipped out. There was a tall staircase that greeted me at the end of the hall and I decided to go down.

It was one of those spiral staircases that you see in creepy haunted houses in movies. A few of the stairs squeaked, causing me to flinch and hope no one else heard. I decided to start on the first floor, which I understood was the main floor where the kitchen was and the entertainment rooms. The second was the boy, Jonathan Wayland's, quarters, and the third belonged to the 'servants'. Who the hell has 'servants' anymore? The fourth floor was all mine, with its own kitchen, living room, full-size bathroom and bedroom. I had only used two of the four rooms, and the ones I used were common sense.

The stairs led right to the front door, which I remembered noticing when my father first dumped me here. I could leave now, escape, if I wanted to, and I would, if it didn't mean going back to living with my father and watching him wither away.

I wandered down to the kitchen, gently opening the cupboard and retrieving a glass. There was a water cooler sitting by the counter and I used it to fill up my cup. Taking a sip, I rounded the corner, almost spilling my water when I noticed that the TV was on. And that someone was sitting in the chair.

JUNE 2002-_Clary_

I couldn't sleep. In school, we had read a story about a girl named Dorothy who had been blown away from her home by a tornado. There was an evil witch, the Wicked Witch of the West, and a tin man, cowardly lion, a scarecrow, flying monkeys, a dog named Toto, flying monkeys, and the Not-So-Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

There was a vicious storm attacking the city, with high winds, lots of rain, and thunder and lightning galore. I thought that I was going to be blown to Oz. After hearing the ending, I really didn't want to be Dorothy. For one, I was completely against killing, even an evil witch. Secondly, Dorothy named her dog after a rock band from the 70's, and I wasn't prepared for that kind of legacy.

And, to top it all off, there was a woman named Almira Gulch-West who lived four doors down from us, and one day, when my bunny, Poppy, ran away, she decided to eat all Miss Gulch-West's prized flowers. She had glared at me every time I walked by ever since. _Terrifying_.

So, the winds were blowing eerily through the trees and I was scared that a tornado was going to blow me and Poppy to Oz and I'd have to 'follow the yellow brick road' to get home. My first thought was, _Daddy can keep me safe. In the book, Dorothy wasn't with her Dad when Miss Almira Gulch a.k.a the Wicked Witch of the West abducted her._

I tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to step on the creaky step or stand too close to windows, because Dorothy got knocked out by a window frame in the twister. When I got down the stairs, I found my father sitting in a chair, head in his hands, passed out. It was the first time I'd ever seen him like that—vulnerable and completely unconscious. For a second, the thought that I might have to take him to Oz with me crossed my mind. Maybe the Wonderful Wizard of Oz could help my father.

That was when he coughed a little and turned his body so I could see something in his lap. A bag full of little neon coloured pills. They looked like little vitamins, but I knew they weren't. After all, why would Dad be passed out holding _vitamins_?

That was the first and last time I ever went to see my dad in the middle of the night. Most times, I was too terrified of what I might find him like. I used to hear him groan and say things in a slurred voice at night, like he was drunk and high at the same time. But what scared me the most was the prospect of what state of consciousness he would be in if I went down.

NOVEMBER 2011-_Clary_

The chair was located in a room with a huge-ass TV and a gorgeous plum-coloured sofa. Why the figure had lugged a chair over to the room when there was such a nice couch there confused me. I tiptoed closer, close enough to see the blue glow from the TV and the figure holding paper in one hand and a pen in the other, scribbling furiously.

"Who's there?" the voice asked. It was distinctly male and somehow eerily familiar.

"Clary," I forced out, willing my voice not to shake.

"Dammit," I heard the voice groan. He folded the papers roughly and shoved them under one of the seats of the couch. "What do you want?" He didn't say the last part cruelly, just curiously.

"I—I was just looking around. This place is so big," I said, knowing full well it was a lame excuse, but hoping with all my heart that it would work. "Who are you, by the way?"

Still not facing me, I saw the figure lower its head. "Jonathan Christopher Wayland," he replied.

I almost choked. _This_ was the person keeping me here? I turned my attention to the TV, where a Spanish soap opera was playing. "You watch Spanish soaps?" I asked.

He half-turned to me, not enough for me to see his face, but enough to make it obvious he was talking to me. "Yes, I do."

I smiled to myself, glad for the dark so this completely un-scary captor of mine couldn't see that I was laughing. After all, _what guy watches soap operas willingly, let alone ones in Spanish_? "Of course," I said, trying to keep the fact that I rolled my eyes out of my voice. "Which one is this?"

"_90210_," he replied swiftly, then muttered _shit_ under his breath.

"Oh really? You know, I watch that one in English some times. It's a lot easier to understand. Unless you speak Spanish."

"I do," he replied with a smirk colouring his tone.

"Oh yeah?" I challenged.

"_S__í, con fluidez. ¿ Y usted?_" he asked in fluent Spanish.

"Yes, for your information I can speak Spanish well. Well enough to know that what you're watching certainly _isn't_ _90210_." I replied.

"You're having fun with this, aren't you?" he asked. I shook my head and stifled a laugh. "Whatever. There's food in the kitchen, you can make yourself whatever you want, or call Dorothea down to make something for you."

"I'm not really that hungry," I replied. "I'm more, like, lonely. It's really hard to have a decent conversation with someone over Facebook, you know. And, yes, I've tried calling them, but all I get is the '_Oh, poor Clary. I feel for you, babe!_' speech."

"Sounds annoying," Jonathan replied. That was it. He went back to watching his Spanish soap opera where one of the main characters was currently yelling at her lover for spending the last night with their ex-girlfriend.

"_So_, do you have a nickname or something? Do people call you _John, Jonathan Christopher, J.C., Chris_?" I asked.

"Jonathan is fine, thanks." He replied, dodging my conversation starter.

"Oh. I just thought, since you have a long name like me you might shorten it. My name's actually Clarissa, but I go by the nickname Clary. Which you obviously already know." I sounded like a babbling idiot. "I don't mean to intrude or anything, but are we ever really going to meet? Like face-to-face, instead of my-face-to-your-back-and-your-face-to-the-TV?"

"No!" he replied, a little too forcefully. He flipped the channel, landing on a hockey game between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the New York Rangers.

"I love hockey!" I blurted out, resisting the urge to cover my mouth with my hands.

"Really?" His tone was incredulous.

"Yeah, I've been a fan since I was little. I had a pair of New York Rangers pyjama's when I was a baby, and I have a pair of sweatpants with _I heart NY Rangers_ on the butt." He probably didn't need to know that I owned a pair of sweatpants, let alone what they had on the butt.

"That's nice." His tone turned complacent, like he was humouring a five-year-old.

"Yeah, at least they're winning today. Their loss against the Winnipeg Jets was embarrassing. I mean, 4 _nothing? _That's a little sad. Anyway, I guess I should go and, y'know, stop bothering you. I can be such an idiot sometimes." I admitted, turning around and heading back to the kitchen.

"Clary?" Jonathan called. "Come back for a second."

I turned and tentatively walked back around the corner, unsure of why he was asking me to come back after refusing to have a conversation with me. "Yes?"

"Just, wait a second. You were right, before, when you asked if we were ever going to meet. I can't avoid you forever." He takes a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something. "I need you to promise not to scream."

"Hey, I'm not some closeted Justin Beiber lover, so if what you're trying to say is you're his look alike, I can tell you for a fact I will _not_ try to jump you." I said jokingly.

"I'm being serious. You have to promise." He said, his tone as serious as his words.

"'kay, kay, I promise not to scream, scouts honour." I replied.

After a pregnant pause, he stood up slowly. Tentatively reaching up he removed his hood, taking a deep breath and turning around. His eyes met mine, challenging me to say something, to make a remark. Instead, I looked at his liquid gold eyes and gave him a shy smile. The kind girls give guys when they don't know what to say. And best of all, he smiled back with the kind of smile that reached his eyes and made their liquid gold ignite into amber flames.

NOVEMBER 2011-_Isabelle_

I let my calls go to voicemail. All twelve of them. My gorgeous iPhone 4S sat there on my desk, blaring out Dev's _Dancing in the Dark_ while I sat on my bed wearing nothing but my favourite _Victoria's Secret_ silk shorts and lacy tank top pj-combo, painting my nails a new shade of OPI nail polish that wasn't on the shelves yet, _Kourt is Red-y for a Pedi_ from the Kardashian Collection. The perks of having a mother in the marketing industry.

Blowing gently on a red-painted nail, I listened as my voicemail played, followed by a message from my boyfriend, Simon Lewis. Don't get me wrong, Simon's a totally sweet guy and he is _fab_ at parties, but he spends the rest of his time playing nerd-tastic RPG's about beating up mythical creatures. I'd prefer he played soccer or hockey, or even went to the gym and worked on his abs. But no, he sat at home getting a premature beer belly. "_Iz, I don't know what I've done to piss you off, but I really want to talk to you. I'm really sorry Clary had to bail on your party; I know she was really looking forward to it. She really wants to get to know you, because she fully and completely accepts our relationship and wants it to be as successful as I do. She would never do anything to sabotage it. How about you come over to my house tonight—my mom's out of town, you see—and you can bring something sexy to wear—like that new Rihanna lingerie stuff you were telling Aline about the other day— and I'll wear those silk boxers you bought me, and we'll get it on. Love you babe._"

Is it too much to ask the guy to stop being so damn nice? It makes it really hard for me to say no to him about anything, and I'm sure that will lead to trouble one day. He's just so effing sweet.

"_Ciao belle, how you doin' tonight? So I know you're obv's avoiding your phone right now, you never forget to charge it, so I know you must be in a pissy-princess mood. But how 'bout this: you, me, no Simon, and a couple of other girls go clubbing Downtown? This new place opened called _Pandemonium_, and I _really_ wanna check it out. Word is, they don't ID you and the bartenders are so drunk that they give out drinks to any girl showing cleavage. Sounds like our scene, eh chica? Call me back before ten and we'll head out. Get some champagne, make out with a few sexy-ass college boys to get our minds off the toddlers we deal with. Kisses, Aline_."

"_Hey babes, I'm pretty sure Aline's already called you about this, but I figured it would be even better coming from me, your bestie, Maia. So I heard from Seb, who heard from Tessa, who heard from Will that there's this new club Downtown called _Pandemonium_. It's super-exclusive, but Lace said she can get us in no probs. A and I are gonna pick up Lacy in the limo, and then we're gonna head out to the club. I bought the most adorable _Louboutins_ yesterday, and I'm _dying_ to try them out. So whattaya say, Izzy-belle? Text it up when you decide. Bye-e-e-e!_"

I glared at my phone. _Dancing in the Dark_ was still playing for the millionth time. I clicked the _ignore_ button as I saw Simon's number on the screen. Screw him, I was going to go dancing with my girls and do all the things single girls can do. Simon would never know.

I blew on my nails and slipped my feet into my black moccasins. Crossing the room to my closet, I pulled out a pair of black, vine-patterned tights and a red, one-shouldered body hugging dress with the back three-quarters made out of sheer lace. For my feet, I grabbed my favourite pair of snakeskin lace-ups with a five inch heel. They were super-expensive, but so worth it.

After quickly slipping the outfit on, I sent a text to Aline, Maia, and Tessa. **Girls, add me to your plans. I'm up for some clubbing. Xoxo, Iz.**

In the bathroom, I curled my black locks to perfection and glued on some fake eyelashes from my favourite cosmetic store. Dramatic red lips, shimmery smoky eyes, diamond studs, and my ruby pendant necklace later, I was ready. Looking just the right combination of kick-ass and sexy, I sauntered down the stairs, thanking a higher power for my parents and Alec being out of the house.

The limo and my girls were waiting outside. The limo driver opened the door for me, revealing a smiling Aline, Maia, and Lacy. "Ready to go, babe?" Aline asked, looking over my outfit with appraising eyes. "Love the shoes by the way."

"Thanks, A. And hell yeah I'm ready. I _need_ something to take my mind off Simon. I can't believe his attitude lately. It's as if I'm nothing more than a bedroom buddy to him lately. All he talks about are either wanting to do it, stories about us doing it, or childhood recollections of his favourite times with Clarissa." I huffed. I didn't mean to sound pouty, it just came out that way.

Maia patted the seat next to her in the limo and offered to pour me a glass of champagne. I took the slender glass from her and sat down. "Yo, Hodge? Turn the radio on and get us to _Pandemonium_ stat, we needs to get my girl Isabelle down to the club!" Aline shouted at the driver. As the limo started moving, I smiled at her.

"You know what you need, girl? A new look for the occasion. So I think tomorrow, the four of us should go down to that new little hair salon on 6th and get you a new look. I know that when I decided to break it off with Sebastian last year, I was feeling really depressed, and then I got a haircut and all my problems just flew out the window. It was like I uncovered a new me under all the hair." Maia explained, running a hand through her blonde-streaked bob.

"You know what, Maia? That sounds good to me. I'm thinking bubble gum pink with green underneath, like Nicki Minaj had in that one video." I said, taking another sip of my champagne.

Looking at me with concern, Aline took my drink from my hands and dumped it back into the cooler with the ice. "Okay, sweets. I was thinking more along the lines of side bangs, or layers, or caramel highlights. So why don't you just relax and stop thinking about the person with the initials S.L."

Then, Lady Gaga's _Marry the Night_ came on the radio, and the rest of the ride was a blur of me screaming out "_M-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry the night!_"

NOVEMBER 2011_-Clary_

_Eyes like golden flames. Finely chiselled jaw line, despite the scars and tattoos and piercings. Bald head with a tree tattooed on. Lips a perfect cupid's bow, pale in the moonlight. Slim pianists fingers. Despite the bulky hoodie, clearly a lithely muscled figure. Tall, almost six feet. Was probably completely gorgeous before he fell from grace_.

I started thinking of Jonathan as more of a fallen angel than a troubled teenage boy. After he removed his hood, I stared for a minute, then told him, "_You know what? I've seen worse._"

And I have. I've seen worse than this fallen angel. I've watched my father crumble before my eyes; go from professor at a university to unemployed addict. I watched his stint on a drug that made all his hair fall out and his teeth rot before I called the hospital and had them take him in to rehab. I've watched my own sister, Marie; stab herself with a dull knife from the kitchen because she couldn't handle seeing our father like that. So, I've seen worse than a boy with a few scars and piercings.

I stayed up the rest of the night, sketching pictures of this fallen angel. Some he was only wearing pants in, but the picture wasn't a yearning for sex, it was a depiction of what I pictured as his wing scars and vines tattooed along his torso as a continuation from what I could see on this neck. And although I could see some people being terrified of him, I wasn't. His beauty was of a strange sort, but it was beauty no less.

At eight, I walked over to my suitcase, which I still hadn't unpacked, and pulled out a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a white fitted t-shirt. After pulling them on, I made an effort to put some product in my hair to stop the insane frizz and slicked on a thin layer of mascara. Slipping my feet into a pair of silver scuffed ballet flats, I opened the door from my room out to the hall and went back down the stairs.

Someone was in the kitchen, bustling around, which I could tell by the clanging of pots and pans. The smell of homemade waffles wafted through the halls. As I got closer to the kitchen, I could see a petite Spanish woman with black hair juggling a fruit tray and maple syrup. "Miss! You're up! Care for breakfast? I made from scratch."

I noticed Jonathan, wearing a beige long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans, sitting at the counter on one of the bar stools. "Sure," I said. "I love waffles." I took the seat beside Jonathan, offering him a smile.

The Spanish woman gave Jonathan a look. "Oh, Clary, this is Dorothea. She's the housekeeper. If you ever need anything, she can get it for you." The woman curtsied as Jonathan introduced her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, getting up to help her carry the fruit tray. I brought it to where Jonathan still remained sitting. "Any plans for today?" I asked him.

"I have classes at one with Luke in the studio. You can come if you want?" He ended what should've been a statement with a question mark.

"God, yes, I'd love to. I mean just because I'm stuck here, doesn't mean I have to . . ." I stopped myself, realizing what I was saying. "Oh shit, I'm sorry; I didn't mean that I'm stuck here! Just, just that, while I'm not going to school, I might as well keep up." I covered.

Jonathan's face stayed emotionless, like a mask. "That's fine; I knew what you were saying. If you want to join us, you can meet Dorothea down here at one and she'll bring you to the studio." With that, he got up, taking his breakfast with him.

Turning to Dorothea, I gave her a sad look. "I said something wrong, didn't I?"

She shook her head, placing her tiny hands on my shoulders. "No, he just has to learn that he's not perfect. That there are things even he can't do or get away with. Do not worry, he will learn."

NOVEMBER 2011-_Isabelle_

Bodies gyrating to the beat. Sweat beading on my chest. My perfectly curled hair sticking to my back. Maia and Aline flanking me on either side, singing in completely off-key voices. "Babes, you having fun yet?" Aline asked me, her voice hoarse.

Maybe. Yes. No. Not yet. They're all acceptable answers, but I haven't had enough to drink to make the decision yet. "I need another shot," I told Aline. "Be right back."

I made my way through the sea of dancers to the bar. The club was humid and smelled like sweat and spilled beer. A couple lay on one of the plush couches making out like in an R-rated movie scene. The song changed and some people started fist pumping. The DJ was flirting with a dyed-blonde girl with the fakest chest I had ever seen.

I pushed past to the bar where a burly man with flyaway dark hair was serving drinks to a couple. The woman had thick blonde hair that seemed to shimmer in the lights. She was dressed in a black and red bandage dress with little cut-outs at the sides. The man had dark curly hair and tanned skin. "Tequila on ice," I ordered, ignoring how lonely the couple beside me was making me feel.

"Aren't you a little young to be ordering that, sweetheart?" The man beside me said with a smirk on his face.

"Why do you give a crap how old I am?" I asked. The bartender slid me the shot and I slid him a five.

"I don't. My name is Raphael Santiago, and this is my beautiful cousin, Camille Belcourt." The man said. His cousin, Camille, smiled at me.

"I'm Isabelle." I replied, slugging down my shot.

"Nice to meet you, Isabelle." Camille said. "Well, Raphael, I must be going now, but I will leave you two to talk." Camille hopped off her stool, landing gracefully on her feet.

When she left, Raphael offered to buy me another drink, which I accepted. We had competitions of who could take their shot the fastest. And an hour later, I was getting a text from Aline saying that they were leaving so I'd have to find my own way home.

"Do you need a lift?" Raphael asked, his Spanish accent lilting his words. I shook my head _yes_. "All right, I will have the car brought around."

He escorted me into his car, gave the driver my address, and asked me if I wanted to try something new. I said yes, so he brought me to the hot tub, where we both stripped down naked and sat in the tub until what felt like hours but was probably only ten minutes later. Feeling brave, Raphael kissed me and I reciprocated. Minutes later, we were lying on top of our towels, limbs entwined. And while I should've been thinking, _Simon's going to kill me, I don't even know this guy_, I was actually thinking, _it's nice to be taken care of some times._

_I try to be patient but I'm hurting deep inside_

_And I can't keep waiting; I need comfort late at night_

_And I can't find my way home, won't you lead me home?_

'_Cause I'm lost in this dream, I need you to hold me_

_I'm scared of lonely_

—_Scared of Lonely_, Beyonce

**Okay, so there you have it. Please let me know what you think. This story is going to go in a new direction with some plot twists, and I think it's really important for you to have your say in it. Let me know what you think, if you love this direction, hate it, think its too _stereotypical-teenage-angst-and-drama_. I will try to update soon, and all reviewers will get a teaser from the next chapter, which I am still yet to name. **

**xoxoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


	11. Don't You Remember?

**It's been AGES since I updated! I am soo sorry! I'm going to blame this on exams and homework and work, but the real reason is probably writer's block. I'm going to make this AN really short, so bear with me. I'm done school for the summer now so updates should be more frequent!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Enjoy!**

11. Don't You Remember?

_When will I see you again?_

_You left with no goodbye, not a single word was said._

_No final kiss to seal any seams_

_I had no idea the state we were in_

—_Don't You Remember_, Adele

NOVEMBER 2011- _Alec_

My so-called best friend is a total asshole. He told me he was attending boarding school in Paris. And when I get to Paris, to this private boarding school called the _Paris Institute_, and go talk to the office staff, I get told, "We never had a Jace Herondale attend this school. I think you're in the wrong place."

_Damn him_. He was going to hear from me, in a very, very nasty Facebook message. With lots of angry faces and capital letters. My boyfriend, Magnus was rubbing my back and shooting dirty looks to people staring at us in the cafe. "Hush, Alec, darling, you're working up a sweat over this. So what, you just had a rude awakening to the fact that your best friend is undeniably a Grade A bullshitter, but the most important thing is that we're here, together. Your parents said it would never happen, but look at us now." Magnus kissed my ear.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." A man sitting near us started gawking. "Can we keep the love-y stuff to a minimum while we're out in public?" I asked.

Magnus looked appalled. He gave the on-looking man the finger before speaking. "What's wrong with love-y stuff? Other people do it in public all the time. We're in _Europe_ darling, nothing is strange here. They have nude beaches, for Louis Vuiton's sake. We aren't doing anything wrong. I know you're upset over Jace, but let's keep the anger to a minimum, okay babe?"

I took a deep breath in through my nose. I wasn't used to people staring at me. Even when Jace and I would walk to places together, people wouldn't stare at me. They'd stare, but it would be at him. Jace, with his golden hair, gold eyes, and gold skin. Perfect, golden, and a total jerk.

Magnus nudged my arm. "C'mon, Alexander, let's go check out the Wonders of England. I want to get a picture of us together on Abbey Road. We can pretend to be the Beatles. But I warn you, I'll insist on you being Paul McCartney. When he was younger he was one fine piece of man candy. Just. Like. _You_."

NOVEMBER 2011-_ Clary_

Today I was going to learn something. The prospect of learning had me giddy, which sounds incredibly dorky. I made an effort to look nice, partially because I was meeting more people and partially because I always felt like I learned better when I was dressed nicely. Stupid, silly, shallow, and dorky, I know. It probably came from going to a school where everyone dressed like they were on the set of _Gossip Girl_.

I was wearing a simple pair of black leggings and a cream-coloured v-neck sweater dress my mom handed down to me. I added a belt to it for a little touch of _me_, but the vintage style was very modern in its own way. The dress wasn't Gucci, but it wasn't Salvation Army thrift store wear either. I decided to straighten my hair and leave it down since it was cooperating so well. When the clock struck one, I made my way down the stairs to the kitchen, where Dorothea greeted me with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. I thanked her, and she led me down the hall.

"The studio is down the hall to the left," she told me, smiling. Of the people I had met so far, she understood me the most. I wondered how she ended up working a job like this, when with a personality like hers she could easily be working somewhere far more lucrative. Of course, I had no idea what Jonathan's father was paying her.

I thanked her and she planted a kiss on my cheek. Even though I had only met a few days prior, she reminded me a lot of my mother, just Spanish version. I wandered down the hall, wondering how I would know that I was in the right place. _Stupid_, I scolded myself,_ the teacher will be there_. Something about Jonathan intrigued me in a way I'd never felt intrigued before. He was a puzzle I couldn't solve at first glance, a conundrum. Most people could be sorted into categories and put into little boxes, he couldn't. Every category I tried him for he didn't quite fit. Clearly, his family had money, which meant that I _should've_ been able to sort him into the 'Stuck-up rich snob' box or the 'Rich but ashamed of his family's money' box.

As I thought of boxes and Jonathan, I found the studio. The door was slightly open and I could voices inside. " . . . _Othello_? Of all the Shakespearian plays we could study, you chose _Othello_?" That was Jonathan's voice.

Another male voice replied: "It's a tragic love story. What's bothering you? The fact that Othello kills Desdemona?"

"Look, can't we study something else? Like . . . like . . . _Romeo and Juliet_?"

"You do understand that they die at the end, right? How is that better than _Othello_?"

"Holy shit, could Shakespeare not write just _one_ happy play?"

"Fine, fine, I will go find my text for _The_ _Tempest_. It's a comedy, and it has several great love scenes. It might take me a few hours, though . . ."

"No! She'll be here long before that! You win, we'll read _Othello_."

I took a deep breath before knocking on the door. "Hello? Can I come in?"

There was a sigh from behind the door. "Yes, come in."

NOVEMBER 2011-_ Isabelle_

"Miss Lightwood? Shall I bring you bags to the limo?" One of Daddy's hired hands, a petite girl with to-die-for hair that I would love to accidentally get caught on a revolving door, asked me, holding my many shopping bags.

"Yes, make sure that my dress doesn't go anywhere near the floor and if I see even a speck of dirt of my new _Fendi_ pumps, I will have your ass fired faster than you can say Marc Jacobs."

The girl nodded, spinning around so fast that her damn-perfect hair swung out in a curtain around her. _Maybe it's time for me to get mine done_, I decided. "Anna, be a doll and buy me a coffee from Starbucks when you've put those in the limo. I'm going to get my hair done. You know where it is."

I waited for her to nod, and then started walking towards the salon, shaking my butt as I walked. I felt amazingly wrong today. Raphael and I had a fabulous sleep over, watching movies like the Hangover and making out during the un-funny parts. It almost made up for Clary refusing to come to my party tonight. That's what the dress was for. It was a _Balenciaga_ dress with one draped sleeve with an off-white and black intarsia stripe. That with my new black _Fendi_ pumps with the little black bow was sure to wow at my party. It was really a shame that Clary couldn't be there to see Simon all over me. Seeing Simon felt like the right thing to do tonight. Raphael and Simon could learn to share me.

Jacques Mann was my favourite stylist. So, of course, when I walked into the salon wearing my new blue belted shirtdress and brown leather wedges, the first thing I heard as I walked in the door was, "Isabelle Lightwood, may I be the first to tell you that you look _fierce_, darling!"

"Jacques," I greeted, kissing him once on each cheek like the French do. "I need my hair done. I'm thinking, either caramel highlights or—" Jacques pressed a finger to my lips and led me to a chair.

"No more speaking, darling. I am going to give you chocolate brown highlights, side bangs, and layers so your beautiful hair just falls at the small of your back."

I beamed. This is why I kept going back to Jacques. He knew exactly what I wanted. "So, I'm having a party tonight, and I need hair advice. I would ask Aline, but I value your opinion so much more."

Jacques pulled my hair out of its chignon. "Darling, that depends on exactly what you hope to accomplish."

"To make every girl in the room jealous of me and to have my boyfriend all over me." I said, leaning my head back.

Jacques was quiet for a few minutes while he washed and cut my hair. He pulled out the dye and set it beside him. "Curls, darling. Killer curls, totally fierce, totally Isabelle Lightwood."

I smiled to myself. I could picture myself with my hair all in curls, wearing my _Fendi_ pumps and _Balenciaga_ dress. Totally killer. "Done, darling. Take a looksie."

I looked in the mirror. There was Isabelle reflected. Long midnight hair, chocolate-y highlights twisted through in a chic way. Dark eyes, lined perfectly with liquid eyeliner, fake eyelashes perfectly blended into the real ones. Lips, perfectly lined with a berry gloss. Perfect.

NOVEMBER 2011-_ Jace_

"That I did love the Moor to live with him, my downright violence and storm of fortunes may trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued even to the very quality of my lord: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, and to his honour and his valiant parts did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, a moth of peace, and he go to the war, the rites for which I love him are bereft me, and I a heavy interim shall support by his dear absence. Let me go with him." Clary said, reading Desdemona's part.

"Let her have your voices. Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, to please the palate of my appetite, nor to comply with heat-the young affects in me defunct-and proper satisfaction. But to be free and bounteous to her mind: and heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant for she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness my speculative and officed instruments, that my disports corrupt and taint my business, let housewives make a skillet of my helm, and all indign and base adversities make head against my estimation!" I tried to make my voice reflect Othello's feelings. In truth, I was really trying not to stumble on any of the Shakespearian words.

"Be it as you shall privately determine, either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste, and speed must answer it," Luke's finger scanned the page for him as he spoke, acting as the Duke of Venice while giving us both nods for our reading.

"You must away to-night," Clary said, switching from her Desdemona voice to her deeper, First Senator voice.

"With all my heart," I replied, thinking about what was being said. Desdemona had eloped with Othello, and her father disapproved, thinking that Othello seduced her with witchcraft. Othello told him otherwise, saying that stories of his early life had sparked the love between himself and Desdemona. And then there's the issue of Othello wanting to take Desdemona with him to Cyprus where he had to fight with the Venetian army.

"At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, and he shall our commission bring to you; with such things else of quality and respect as doth import you." Luke read.

I replied, as Othello, to the Duke. "So please your grace, my ancient; a man he is of honest and trust: to his conveyance I assign my wife, with what else needful your good grace shall think to be sent after me."

"Let it be so. Goodnight to everyone. And, noble signior, if virtue no delighted beauty lack, your son-in-law is far more fair than black." Luke read, his fingers trailing over the words.

"Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well," Clary read, her eyes sparkling. I used the play as a reason to look into them.

"Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: she has deceived her father, and may thee." Luke read as Desdemona's father. He clasped his hands together. "Why don't we stop there for the day? Good reading, both of you."

Clary smiled. "I really enjoyed class today. _Othello_ isn't my favourite Shakespearian tragedy, but I'm glad we are studying it here."

I decided it was a compliment. "You did a good job reading, it was almost like you were acting out the play."

She gave me a funny look. "That's what reading is supposed to be, acting. I like to picture the scene in my head, like when I paint something. I find the more you dive into a character, the better you can sketch them, or in this case, learn the meanings behind the play."

I decided that it was time she knew. "I've been working on building this room since you got here."

Her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings. Easels lined the back wall with various sizes of canvases on them. The walls were a soft blue-white and there were windows all over the room. Cupboards were filled with paints and brushes of all colours and types and sizes, and a large round table sat off to the side with sketch books of all varieties sitting on a little bookshelf. Various types of water colours pens and pencils, sketch pencils, pastels, and pencil crayons sat in neat, sealed boxes on the table. In another corner was a kiln with a little pottery table, complete with the spinning piece.

"This is _beautiful_," she breathed, looking around in awe. "Do you paint?"

I shook my head. Creativity was _not_ my strong suit. "No, but you seemed like the artsy type when I first met you, so I decided to build you a studio to make you feel at home."

Clary turns away, biting her lip. "It does. Make me feel at home, that is. It's beautiful."

"I'm glad something in the room is," I murmured. Clary's head snapped to look at me.

"Stop telling yourself that you're hideous. You're not." She said, her voice indignant. "I grew up my whole life with people telling me that I wasn't good enough or smart enough to get anywhere. They judged me off my family. So I decided to hit back and say, 'Yes, I _am_ good enough and smart enough to make something of myself'. If you stop telling yourself that you're hideous, you won't feel hideous. Besides, true beauty is what glows from inside. That's what I like to put on canvas—a reflection of the inner soul." She bit her lower lip, as if she was afraid she'd said too much. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"You didn't," I said, mimicking her earlier statement about feeling at home. "Offend me, I mean. I needed to hear that from somebody, and my blind tutor and immigrant housekeeper weren't going to say that to me."

She smiled, showing two rows of slightly coffee-stained typical New Yorker teeth. She had a nice smile, save for a few of her teeth being slightly out of line. "Do you want to join me for dinner tonight? I'm sure that eating in your room isn't as comfortable as eating at a table. I can have Dorothea make your favourite food and everything." I tried to keep hopefulness out of my voice.

"I'd like that. I need to start eating with people again or I'm going to turn into an agoraphobic," she said with a smile on her face. _Agoraphobic_. I made a mental note to look up what that word meant.

NOVEMBER 2011-_ Clary_

_Isabelle Lightwood _has invited you to her_ Back-to-School Party _tonight.

I hit the little 'no' beside the word 'reply'. The little invite had been sitting in my Facebook notifications for days. I did notice that Isabelle had changed the word _get-together_ to _party_, meaning that it would be a full-fledged drinking and dancing affair. For once, I was thanking my lucky stars that I was unavailable, even if that meant I was stuck in a stranger's house—well, not a stranger anymore. _Jonathan_'s house.

Isabelle's party was like any other that Simon was attending and I wasn't. Sometimes I felt like I was treading water furiously to stay afloat while Simon was cruising with Isabelle on her yacht. I switched my train of thought to dinner tonight. I was sitting on my bed, snuggled up in my Oxford sweater and a pair of paint splattered leggings, a book balanced on my knees.

The school session earlier had left me speechless. The studio down there—_gorgeous_. It was everything an artist could want—paint supplies, a kiln, a pottery table and sketching supplies galore. Another thought hit me. _How did Jonathan know that I liked painting? You don't just look at someone and think _wow; she looks like an artist_, can you?_

The alarm I set on my phone started beeping. I sighed, knowing my comfy clothing had to go. Something about this dinner seemed important to me, like I needed to make a good impression. I had searched my suitcase earlier for something appropriate. I had considered wearing my sweater dress again, but then I found _it_. I was not a girly-girl by any standards, and I couldn't really claim to care that much about my clothing, but this . . . this was _it_.

_It_ was a tunic dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a fun black and white tribal print of tiny geometrical shapes. I reapplied a single swipe of chocolate brown mascara on my eyelashes and slicked some bubble gum scented lip balm on. I slipped my feet into my absolute favourite tiny faux-leather chocolate brown booties. I tousled my curls in the mirror and decided I was presentable—and fashionably early.

I found Dorothea in the kitchen, slaving away at the stove. Whatever she was making smelled absolutely delicious. "Miss Clary, you cannot see. Dinner is a surprise. Mister Jonathan is waiting for you in the dining room." I thanked her and continued walking until I found what looked like the dining room. The wooden table was set with two placemats and sets of cutlery, coupled with pretty delft blue patterned china plates and crystal wine glasses and crystal tumbler glasses. At the center of the table was a pretty multi-faceted crystal vase holding little coloured glass pieces and twelve beautiful roses—two blue, two white, two blood-red, two peach, two light pink, and two that were like a artists palette that had been swirled and coloured purple-pink-blue. Their fragrance wafted through the room. The chandelier hanging overhead was just as beautiful. It looked like it was stolen from the Hall of Mirrors in the French castle, Versailles. The chandelier was gold, with sixteen miniature candles with little LED lights for flames held in its up stretched arms. From those arms dripped crystals, glistening in the white LED light.

"Do you like it?" a voice asked. I jumped, forgetting that Dorothea had said Jonathan was already in the dining room.

"It's absolutely _gorgeous_," I breathed. I finally noticed Jonathan, sitting in one of the red plush couches against the far wall. He was wearing a simple cream v-neck long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans—both of which looked as expensive as the lamp. The shirt hugged his muscular form well, emphasizing the fact that although he was not built like a football linebacker that he was still, well, _built_. I felt a blush colour my face. "This whole place is . . . _gorgeous_."

Jonathan smirked in a way reminiscent of somebody I used to know. "You say that a lot. For the record, this place gets pretty ugly if you're here long enough. I haven't left here in . . ." Jonathan paused, which I assumed was because it was painful for him to talk about. ". . . since my father put me here."

"Your father sounds like a jackass," I said, not thinking. I slapped a hand over my mouth, my face turning an even deeper shade of red. "Oh God, that was awful of me. I'm _so_ sorry."

A small smile crawled across Jonathan's face. The smile looks nice on him. "Don't worry; I think of him as a jackass a lot of the time now. Here, let's sit at the table."

I nodded at him and took a seat. "Wanna play twenty questions?" I asked, feeling bolder all of a sudden. Simon and I used to play twenty questions, especially if Simon went away on vacation and I wanted information he wasn't telling me, like how this one time he accidentally pantsed an old lady in a sarong at the beach in Spain . . .

Jonathan sat across from me. "Sure," he said, his eyes wary.

I set my elbows on the table, threaded my fingers together and rested my chin there. "Okay, so you can ask the first question, which can be anything from favourite colour to . . . well, whatever you can think of. If you don't want to answer a question, you have four passes." I nodded at him, signaling that it was his turn to go.

Jonathan looked like he was contemplating. "Okay, what's your favourite colour?"

I rolled my eyes; that was an easy one. "Lime purple. Purple and lime green side-by-side. I like the contrast. What's your favourite flavour of ice cream?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Stracciatella. It's a flavour of gelato, kind of like cookies and cream, but better. We should go out and get some sometime." Jonathan answered. "Okay, my turn. Your favourite movie?"

I grinned. "That award goes to_ The Proposal_."

"Really?" Jonathan asked, an incredulous look on his face. "I definitely pegged you for a _Confessions of a Shopaholic_ kind of girl."

"Hah," I snorted. "More like _Bridesmaids_ or _Sherlock Holmes_; I'm a comedic action girl. What's your favourite? _The Hangover_?"

Jonathan laughed; a real authentic sound. "_Suckerpunch_, actually. I have to admit, Emily Browning is pretty sexy as Babydoll."

I shook my head at him disgusted. "That is probably the most crap-tastic movie ever created."

Jonathan began to laugh again, shaking _his_ head at _me_. "I was joking. You're right; my favourite is probably a tie between the stupid-funny _The Hangover_ and _Stepbrothers_." When I cleared my throat Jonathan continued. "Okay, next question. Do you believe in love at first sight?"

NOVEMBER 2011-_ Jace_

_'Do you believe in love at first sight?'_ What kind of pansy-assed question was that? Clary looked like she was gauging how to answer the question. "In books, definitely. No author can resist bringing Romeo and Juliet together. In real life? I'm a bit skeptic. I _hope_ love at first sight is real, but of late it doesn't seem like that's true. My question is why you asked that question."

I groaned internally. _This would be a good time to bring dinner in, Dorothea_. "Because . . . you seem like the kind of person who might believe in that sort of thing."

"Why? Just because I'm artsy and think your house is gorgeous?" Clary asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair.

I wished I could tell her the real reason; that I was really asking the question to give me something to believe in. "It's my turn to ask the next question," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "What's your favourite—" Just then, Dorothea came in, bearing trays of food on a cart. She pulled off pots of steamed vegetables, miniature whole fried potatoes, chicken thighs coated in her home-made barbeque sauce, and a small pot of pasta in fettuccini sauce.

"Jonathan, everything looks _so_ good! I can't actually remember the last time I had a meal like this. Usually my dad and I would just eat sandwiches or whatever I felt like cooking after school." Clary gushed.

"Glad you like it," I replied, forking chicken onto my plate. Clary did likewise with the potatoes.

Taking a bite out of one, Clary said, "You know, you remind me of someone sometimes. I just can't put my finger on whom."

I smiled wryly. Of course she wouldn't be able to remember exactly whom I reminded her of. "Don't you remember? We went to kindergarten together?"

"What the hell? We did? Why didn't you mention it until now?" When I started to laugh, Clary stopped talking. "And you're completely shitting me. You know what, Jonathan? You're a total asshat." I knew she wasn't mad at me because her tone was good-natured.

We ate in silence until Dorothea brought dessert in, being a two layer—one layer chocolate, one layer vanilla—cake with buttercream frosting. "I think you're starting to grow on me, Jonathan," Clary said around a mouthful of cake. "And this stuff is _fantastic_."

_I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness,_

_And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head._

_But don't you remember?_

_Don't you remember?_

_The reason you loved me before,_

_Baby, please remember me once more._

_—__Don't You Remember_, Adele

**I hope you enjoyed CHAPTER ELEVEN! I'll try to update soon!**

**Review?**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


	12. Apologize

**Hey! I was just on vacation, which is why this is _so_ late. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: This is based off _Beastly_, the movie and book, using the characters of Cassandra Clare's _The Mortal Instruments_ and _The Infernal Devices_. I own nothing**

**UPDATE: (18/07/2012) Minor fix. Clary's jacket isn't new, it's old. And it's pink**

12. Apologize

_I'm holding on your rope__  
__Got me ten feet off the ground__  
__And I'm hearing what you say__  
__But I just can't make a sound__  
__You tell me that you need me__  
__Then you go and cut me down_

—_Apologize_, Timbaland

NOVEMBER 2011 – _Simon_

By the time I got to Isabelle's house, the party was in full swing. By swing, I mean people dancing, people making out, people playing beer pong and strip poker, and people taking shots on Isabelle's mother's favourite antique rug. Looked like a blast.

"Simon! Oh my God, it's _Simon_! He's _here_!" Isabelle's best friend Aline screamed, running up to me wearing only her strapless bra and a pair of boxers, which weren't hers, and holding a red cup of something alcoholic. She was clearly losing—or winning, I supposed, not being that familiar with the rules of strip poker.

"Hi, yeah, Aline, have you seen Iz?" I asked, trying to look her in the eye without my gaze travelling . . . lower.

"Oh, Isabelle? You mean _Isabelle_? Well, you see, she's—she's at the bar. Serving—serving . . . drinks! Yeah, that's it! She said you'd find her in the kitchen! God, Simon, this is some good _shit_. You have _got_ to have some of this!" Aline shoved her drink in my face, allowing me to catch of whiff of its strength. She noticed my distaste and pulled her cup back, tipping it back and draining half of it. "Just _whatever_, Simon. Hey, I'll have Maia escort you!" Aline cupped her hands over her mouth. "_Hey_!_ M-bitch_, get your ass over here! You're gonna 'scort Si to Iz!" Aline cocked her head to the side. "I meant, _escort_ not _squirt_. Ew, Simon if you even think about squirting on me or Maia, I swear to God I will personally—"

Maia came to my rescue, fully clothed. Luckily. "Aline! Shut up and go back to your poker game. Maybe you shouldn't be drinking anymore." Maia changed her focus to me. "Izzy just left the kitchen to go to the bathroom, Simon. I'll text her to let her know that you're here. Do you want something to drink? Lacy made some of her famous jello shots and Sex on the Beach."

"Maia, you know I hate vodka. Just take me to the kitchen. I'll grab a Coke from Izzy's fridge." I said, pushing her aside and walking into the kitchen. What I saw there made me sick to my stomach. Isabelle was there, but not alone. She was lying on the table, wearing the dress she sent me a picture of, with some guy lying on top of her and sucking her neck while she ran her fingers through his black curly hair.

"_Mi chica_," the man was hissing in between neck-sucks.

"Oh, Raphael, keep going. Oh God," Isabelle moaned. I couldn't handle it. I spun around, crashing into the group of guys drinking at the island sitting on bar stools.

"Watch out, tool! You could've spilled my drink! Iz only bought so many _Heinekens_, gotta savour what she has," one guy said, slurring his words and chugging his drink.

"Sorry," I muttered, shaking my head and pushing passed the beer-pongers. I was almost at the door when Isabelle grabbed my wrist. Her dress was off-centre so I could see a glimpse of her red and black lacy strapless bra. The sight sickened me.

"Simon! I am so sorry! You weren't supposed to see that!" Isabelle cried.

"What the hell was that Isabelle? What did I do wrong? I have tried _so_ hard to be what you want. What is he that I'm not? Easy?" I asked, anger tingeing my voice.

"_No_! Simon, this isn't about you! I—I was frustrated that Clary didn't want to come to my party, to I went to a club and I met Raphael, and he treated me like a woman, not just a teenage girl, and—" I cut her off.

"So you _slept_ with him? You slept with a guy you met at a club the night you met him? And what's this obsession with having Clary here for?" I demanded.

"_Simon_, I _need_ you to understand! You're not even trying!" Tears ran down Isabelle's cheeks like black raindrops. "You and Clary are _close_, really close. She needs to understand that you are _mine_. She needs to know that _I'm_ your best friend now. I was afraid she might try to take you from me!"

A harsh laugh escaped from my lips. "Clary and I are best friends, Isabelle. Nothing more, nothing less. Believe me, if I was interested in romance, I would've made my move on her _ages_ ago. As for us, we're done Isabelle. Go have fun hooking up with Raphael. He's going to score something tonight, isn't he?" With that, I grabbed the door knob and wrenched the door open, storming out.

I ran down the street, trying to get as far from Isabelle's house as possible. When the glow of Brooklyn came into view, I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed. "Clary?"

NOVEMBER 2011 – _Clary _

"Blue six, what do you say to that?" I taunted, slapping my card down on the floor.

"Hah, blue pick up two. Pick 'em up!" Jonathan laughed, slamming his card down.

"Damn," I said, picking up two cards. I had seven cards in my hand now, and I was willing to bet my favourite sketching pencils that he had at least four less than that in his.

"Blue skip you turn, blue reverse back to me, and _Uno_, pick up four! I win!" Jonathan said, flipping his last cards onto the pile.

"And I repeat, _damn_. So, I'm being very generous and giving you a whopping one hundred and two points. Lucky bastard." I said, handing him a pen and the pad of paper we were recording scores on.

Jonathan added his points up. "Five hundred and forty five points!" He crowed. "Guess who won this time?"

"I still kicked your ass at Just Dance," I told him, faking an air of superiority. I grabbed a handful of popcorn out of the bowl and popped on in my mouth. "Yum."

Jonathan shook his head. "Just Dance is _not_ a man's game. I still cannot get over how much you eat. You're tiny and you eat as much as a heavy-weight boxer."

"You know, I'm not sure whether that should be taken as an insult or a compliment. But when I eat, I eat." I replied. I shoved the rest of the popcorn in my mouth and rested my hands on my popcorn and ketchup chips filled stomach. "Hey, guess what? I have a food baby!"

Jonathan gave me a strange look. "Is it possible to get drunk off chips and Diet Pepsi?" he asked rhetorically.

"I'm joking," I replied, sitting up straight. "So, what's next? I'm down for whatever. I'll kick your butt at Call of Duty."

Jonathan laughed. "You might be the only girl I've met who likes Call of Duty. I was thinking of something more along the lines of watching a movie. I've got video on demand." His demeanor turned shy all of a sudden, like watching a movie together would be a huge step forward. I'd only known Jonathan for a few days, but he over the course of today's tutoring session and dinner, he was beginning to feel like a brother to me.

"Sure! What is there to watch?" I asked.

"Name a movie, and I'll see if it's available." Jonathan replied, wielding the remote and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "Okay, so we have X-Men—"

"The new one?" I asked, bouncing up in my spot of the couch. When Jonathan nodded, I jumped up onto my feet. "That one! Can you set it up while I change into something more comfortable? This dress is nice, but I'm really a sweatpants kind of girl as far as watching movies goes."

When Jonathan nodded, I half sprinted up to my room. When I got there, I wiggled out of my dress and grabbed my favourite grey sweatpants off my open suitcase and a plain white t-shirt that only had one splotch of paint on it—green and in the bottom corner. It kind of looked like a four leaf clover which I thought added to the shirt's charm. Before I left the room, I glanced over to my desk where my phone was lying. I grabbed it, just in case.

On the way down the stairs I contemplated the likeliness of anyone _actually_ calling me. Jem maybe, or Simon, but at the moment that is less likely than me winning the lottery. When I got there, I set it on the table between the popcorn and the sour gummy worms. "Okay, we can start the movie now." Jonathan was looking at me weird, like I had toilet paper stuck to my ass or something. I looked down; nope, my bra wasn't showing. "What's up?" I asked him.

I must've caught him by surprise. "N-nothing. I was just looking at the paint splotch. I'm starting to think that you like to paint."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Hmm, you think? I actually hate painting. And this splotch? This is my ax murderer shirt. Ever heard of Blue Bloods? Well, in Texas their elite are called green bloods and their blood is actually green." Jonathan gave me a looked that walked the line between dubious and confused. "I'm joking. I love painting. It's my favourite medium."

Jonathan smiled and hit the play button. "You have the _most_ skewed sense of humour I've ever heard."

NOVEMBER 2011 – Jace

"You have the _most_ skewed sense of humour I've ever heard." I said.

"Its part of my charm," Clary laughed, as if she didn't believe she had any charm. I was beginning to like her laugh. It was a little like a bell ringing—melodic and infectious. "Okay, press play. I'm ready for some kick-ass mutant action."

I pressed the play button and the opening scene started. Across the couch from me, Clary's body tensed with anticipation. "The first time I saw this, in theatres, I started crying at this part. It actually made me hate Kevin Bacon, even though it's just his character. I mean, who the hell would threaten someone's parent to get them to cooperate?"

Guilt traveled up and down my spine like an electric shock. "I know; it's horrible."

That stopped all conversation until we were about halfway through the movie. "I have to pee," Clary announced. "But I'm not quite sure where the bathroom is." Her tone was shameless, brave.

I paused the movie. "It's around the corner. The first room on your left with the . . . toilet." _God, what an idiot. 'The first room on your left with the toilet? No shit Sherlock._ _She knows what a bathroom looks like_.

I heard the door click shut just as Clary's phone started vibrating. I don't know why, but I answered it. "Clary?" the voice on the other side asked.

"No," I replied. "But this is her phone." _Cryptic_.

"What did you do with her?" the voice demanded.

"She's in the bathroom, dude. Chill." I replied, some of my old self resurfacing.

"You killed her and put her in the bathroom? What kind of human being are you?" Something clicked and I realized that the voice on the other side was Simon, Clary's best friend and Isabelle Lightwood's boyfriend.

"She's _going_ to the bathroom, douchebag. As in, _peeing_." This kind of repartee felt natural; comfortable. Reminiscent of a time when I was infinitely happy. _Or at least you thought you were_, a nagging voice in the back of my head reminded me. _You were happy with Clary tonight_.

"Okay, who the hell is this and why are you now answering Clary's phone? Do I know you?" Simon demanded. I heard Clary flush the toilet.

"This is a friend of Clary's. We've never met. Who are you?" I decided playing dumb was the easiest course of action.

"I'm Simon. Clary's best friend. Can you just hand her the phone?" Simon asked, sounding tired.

"Of course I can. May I ask why you're calling?" I asked, making my voice polite.

"I'm calling because I need to see her. Wait—you said you're with Clary. Are you in the city?" Simon asked, sounding _ingenious_. 'You said you're with Clary'. Of course I was if I was answering her phone.

"As in, New York City? No, we're not. We're in . . . Venice." I pulled a random city out of my head, probably because we had been reading _Othello_ this morning. The tap started running, which meant I had just over twenty seconds to end this call, assuming Clary was a good girl and washed her hands for the appropriate amount of time. I suspected that she was.

Simon's voice sounded suspicious. "Clary is supposed to be at a family reunion in Alaska."

I laughed, covering up my mistake. "We were in Alaska. In fact, Cantwell is my home town. No, Clary and I are in Venice as a present from my parents. We're the owners of a large oil rig, so, you know, old money. We're actually leaving Venice in a few hours—we're at the San Nicolo airport, which is why she gave me her bag to hold while she used the bathroom." I only knew the name of that airport because the one time my mother bothered to call me on my birthday since she left us was from there.

Simon sighed. I guessed my story was believable. "Well, can you tell Clary that I called? Have fun in Venice." Simon hung up and I let out a huge breath. That wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. I deleted the call from Clary's call log. She didn't need to know about how her old life came knocking on her door. I set her phone down, just in time.

"Sorry I took so long!" she exclaimed, sitting back down. "I guess all that pop finally caught up with me." She gave me a strange look. "Are you okay? You look a little constipated and Iheard you talking to yourself. Do you need to go to the bathroom, too?"

DECEMBER 2011 – Clary

I had been living in Jonathan's mansion for a month, give or a take a day. Christmas was fast approaching, not that you would be able to tell by the feel of the household. There weren't any Christmas decorations on the walls or a tree in the living room.

"Dorothea, has Jonathan celebrated Christmas since he started living here?" I asked Dorothea over breakfast one day. I was up early, excited about the plan I had cooked up in my sleep.

"No, when he live with his father they never celebrate Christmas. Mr. Wayland often called in to work and he would hand Jonathan presents and leave the poor boy to open alone." Dorothea replied. For some reason, that irritated me. What kind of parent tossed their child aside that way? Even in my dysfunctional family, we made an effort to be on our best behaviour for Christmas. Especially after my sister's suicide, my father made every effort to make Christmas a special, normal season for me.

"I want to celebrate Christmas, Dorothea. I don't mean that I want to be let out of this house to go to church, I mean that I want decorations and spirit here. I want the radio turned on to that 24-hour Christmas songs channel. I want to be tempted to sing along to Madonna's _Santa Baby_, even though I massacre the song every time I try to sing it."

Dorothea smiled, probably towards my Christmas-enthusiasm. "That idea is good, Miss Clary. You put items you want on hold over Internet and I will pay and pick them up with Jonathan's father's credit card."

I clapped my hands together, glad my plan was working. "I also want to go out and cut down a Christmas tree. Jonathan and I could go one night so there wouldn't be anyone else around to see him, if he's worried about that. Cutting a tree is the most exciting part of Christmas."

"I organize, Miss Clary. Do not worry. Christmas is good for a sad house." Dorothea said.

And that was that. The beginning of December came and went, and then it was the twentieth. In my mind, that was my mental deadline. We _needed_ a tree before the twenty-first. So after dinner, I went upstairs and got dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, my Oxford sweatshirt and the old soft pink puffy winter jacket I had the sense to throw in my suitcase the second before I left my old house. On my hands I wore a pair of red Olympic mittens from Vancouver 2010, and my head was adorned with a red Santa hat.

"Ready to get our tree?" I asked Jonathan as he sat on the couch watching the New York Rangers get their asses kicked by Florida.

"We're getting a tree?" he asked.

I nodded. "We are celebrating Christmas this year. The Christmas decorations were delivered today, so all we need is a tree. And _we_," I poked him, "are going to chop it down ourselves. And before you protest, it's already decided that we're going. The limo is outside and everything. We get to ride in a freaking _limo_ to the Christmas tree place! It's so frigging exciting!"

Jonathan was ready within five minutes. I excitedly bounced into the limo, immediately ceasing control of the radio. I easily found my 24-hour Christmas channel, which promptly started playing Michael Bublé's version of _Santa Baby_. "I _love_ Christmas! I just wish it would actually snow in New York. The last time I saw snow was in a movie."

Jonathan laughed, probably at my child-like excitement. "When I was little, before my parents split, we went on a family vacation to the Swiss Alps to go skiing. It's beautiful there."

I pointed to myself. "Jealous. I want to see snow. But then again, I also want to go on a painting retreat to South Africa. So, you know." I looked out the window of the limo (_limo! Oh my God!_).

"I've never been to South Africa." Jonathan said, looking out his window. I eyed the space between us. There he was again, sitting an 'acceptable' at least three feet away from me. It was like he thought he had a disease that I could catch. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was up to date on all of my needles—tetanus, chicken pox, typhoid, meningococcal, hepatitis A and B _and_ C, booster shots, you name it. He'd probably take it the wrong way.

"We should go together sometime! I could paint while you look at guy stuff and then we could explore together! That would be _so much fun_! And we could take a limo to the airport!" The last phrase caused Jonathan to burst into laughter.

DECEMBER 2011 – _Jace_

The Christmas tree lot was empty. Knowing Clary, she probably planned it that way. She was bouncing around like a five year old on Christmas morning, throwing her red curls around. In her white jacket, black leggings and pink chunky snow boots she looked a little like a snow goddess. Her cheeks were a beautiful pink colour from the cold, like natural blush. I could see that today she was wearing a pinky coloured lip balm and that she had opened up the make-up kits I had placed in her room before she arrived. Normally I would've only noticed her wearing make-up of any sort if she was wearing _way_ too much, but lately I'd been keeping track of how much she wore, as if it could give me clues to how she felt about me. I _needed_ her to love me, even more so now that I had decided that I was beginning to love her.

Love is a strange feeling. It's like travelling through a blizzard for so long and suddenly being offered a warm cup of hot chocolate. Your heart, which was so cold up until that moment, melts and you know that as long as you are with her that cold feeling will never return. Everything she does is surrounded by a golden haze and is accompanied by a warm feeling that travels through all of your veins, like liquid gold. After feeling it for the first time that one night in November, the first night she ate dinner with me, I was hooked. I felt like a crack addict, doing anything for another hit of that warm, sweet feeling.

"You have pine needles all in your hair." I told her, reaching to ruffle her curls.

"Aw geez, thanks. I couldn't tell," she replied sarcastically. She swatted my hand off playfully, not even reacting to touching the raised parts of my skin that looked like vines. _Amazing_. She pulled her pink puffy hood up. "Okay, so I put an axe in the back of the—"

"Whoa, who let you even _touch_ an axe?" I asked, cutting her off.

"Luke did. Chill your socks. I didn't damage anything on my way to the limo the first time, I _swear_. Dorothea supervised the _whole time_. What I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, was that you're a big boy, so you can cut down the tree and carry it back to the limo. I think the driver wants to strap it to the roof, but I'm not sure. I'll supervise the whole ordeal, of course." She paused and looked around. "Now, the fun part; picking the _perfect_ tree. Do you know what to look for?" When I shook my head, honestly not knowing her criteria for the 'perfect tree', she continued. "Well, the first thing to look for is a tree with that nice deep green colour. Remember the watercolour pencil I used to draw Luke's shirt yesterday?" Lately, Clary had been drawing in front of me, like my own personal artist who gave me commentary on everything she was doing. 'And now I am sketching the rough shape of Luke's face, I'll come back to it later to refine the shape.'

"So, we want the tree to be that shade of green. We also want it to have a nice full shape. We want it to be like an ice cream cone—skinny at the point, and then gradually widening as your eyes travel down the tree." Clary stopped talking for a minute as we walked down a row of trees. Since we arrived at the tree farm it had begun to grow darker, and now Clary's face was illuminated solely by the full winter moon. It tinged her face and hair silver, adding to the snow princess look. "This is It."

I followed her gaze. "What's it?" My eyes landed on the tree she was looking at. It fit all of her criteria and was she was staring at it with awe in her green eyes.

"Get the axe, Jonathan. This is _our tree_."

_Our tree_. _Our_ tree. Ours. Not just hers, but _ours_. Jonathan and Clary's tree. _Ours_.

_I'd take another chance, take a fall_

_Take a shot for you_

_And I need you like a heart needs a beat_

_But that's nothing new_

—_Apologize, _Timbaland

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'll try to update as soon as I can (hopefully within the next few days). Reviews are welcome**

**xoxo**


	13. Wonderwall

**Hello! I realized the other day that I haven't actually thanked everyone for the amazing and inspiring reviews and 'follows' and 'favourites' for a _while_. And you deserve it! Thank you all so much for supporting me in this story so far. it's definitely one of my favourite ones to write. So, I know its the middle of July, but you all get to read about Christmas. And _trust me_, it was even stranger _writing it_, but I have to follow the timeline, so Merry Christmas in July! Without further ado, the chapter.**

**Disclaimed: I own nothing. Yes, this is loosely-closely based on Alex Flinn's _Beastly_ and the movie, _Beastly_, and involves characters from both the _Mortal Instruments_ series and the _Infernal Devices_ series, both by Cassandra Clare.**

**Enjoy!**

13. Wonderwall

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding_

_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding_

_There are many things that I would like to say to you_

_But I don't know how_

—_Wonderwall_, Oasis

DECEMBER 2011 – _Clary_

I woke up at four 'o' clock this morning. Excitement coursed through my veins, preventing me from sleeping. _It's Christmas_. I powered my laptop up; deciding that there wasn't enough five-year-old inside me to drive me to go sit on the couch down stairs and wait for Jonathan to wake up. The glorious Macbook turned on effortlessly, displaying my embarrassing background. I was a yearbook photographer in Grade Ten and _he_ was he captain of multiple teams _and_ was voted Alicante's most attractive sophomore. Simon and I were joking around and I asked him to take a picture with me to test the cameras. My embarrassing background: that picture. Me, dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a purple floral vintage-y tank top, and _Jace Herondale_ dressed in something expensive and attractive. He was the epitome of attractive.

I logged on to Facebook, covering up his gorgeous face. A bunch of people had posted statuses saying 'Merry Christmas!', so I posted in like. 'Merry Christmas from Alaska! There's real snow here!' To authenticate it, I blew up a picture my cousin Jem had sent me two years ago when he went skiing in Switzerland. I remembered being pissed at him for not taking me. I posted that picture on Facebook with the caption: 'See! I'm not lying! SNOW!' Then, I typed a quick message to Jem saying, 'Don't believe my status, it's complete bull. I'm still in non-snowy New York City-style hell.'

I opened one of my drawers, removing my present for Jonathan. He had been so patient, watching me paint and draw and sketch and sculpt, asking questions and generally being interested in what I was doing, so I put together a compilation of a bunch of my works of art together for him. I had Dorothea buy me a big emerald green scrapbook so I could put all of my prints in it to give Jonathan for Christmas. For his whole life, he had people buying stuff for him for no reason, so I figured that a homemade, thoughtful gift would be appreciated.

I lifted up the scrapbook and opened it. The first page was a sketch of a couple walking on a beach, from when I was playing around with watercolours and Jonathan and I had argued about what defined a 'romantic' colour. The next was a charcoal sketch of a rose, completely perfect save for one petal, which was falling, casting a shadow on the otherwise blank page. This section was what I considered 'romance'. The next was darker, from when I was playing around with shades. I included a self portrait, done in dark colours with the only pop of colour being my red hair. I once told Jonathan that I liked to paint what was inside people, and the dark colours in that drawing showed my mood when I was living with my dad. The next was a sketch of Jonathan, his face shadowed so you could only see the jagged lines of his face, the sharp lines of his high cheekbones. When I first met him, this is what sketched. Later, in the 'light' section, I had a sketch of myself with a smile on my face and colour in my cheeks, emerald green in my eyes, and my red hair in flaming curls. I included a sketch of Jonathan in this section, too. It was of him, scars and everything, shirtless with angel wings on his back and a halo of golden light around his head.

A knock sounded at my door. "Come in!" I shouted, shoving the scrapbook back in my drawer. I still had to wrap it, so hopefully whoever was knocking wasn't there to tell me to come downstairs. After all, it was only six ten.

"Merry Christmas," Jonathan said as he walked in. I could feel his eyes on me, probably thinking about what a comical sight I was in my green reindeer pyjama pants and white _Simple Plan_ tank top (courtesy of Simon for my thirteenth birthday). Christmas and a rock band. Merry Christmas, welcome to my life. My hair, which had decided to frizz out yesterday, was in a high bun, ballerina-style. And the kicker—on my feet was a pair of reindeer slippers. Yeah, I'm pro.

"Merry Christmas to you too. You're up early," I commented, trying my best to look only at his face—and not the way that his plain grey v-neck t-shirt clung perfectly to his toned arms and abdominal muscles. I was shocked by myself; in the past weeks, I had come to think of Jonathan as a friend, nothing more and nothing less. Friends shouldn't admire friends toned bodies.

"Yeah . . ." his eyes travelled to my laptop screen, displaying my conversation with my cousin Jem. The last message on it: _I'm still in non-snowy New York City-style hell_. I quickly shut the window, completely forgetting about my totally embarrassing background picture.

"Um, so when I was in Grade 10, I was a yearbook photographer. This guy, Jace Herondale, was voted the most attractive guy in our grade—I know, it's completely pretentious and snobby—so like any hormonal fifteen-year-old girl, I asked him to take a picture with me, for the sake of testing out my friend Simon's new _Canon_ camera. That's why I have his picture. Suck-ish reason to go along with a suck-ish photo, I know." I explained in a rush, my cheeks flaming up.

"Oh, so you didn't like . . . _like_ him or anything? I mean, looks-wise there's nothing suck-ish about him." Jonathan said, a peculiar tone entering his voice.

"Hah, yeah, and _damn_, he knew it," I said, rolling my eyes to cover my blush. It was dark in my room—maybe he didn't notice. "He could be a complete asshat at times. You know, every once in a while, you—only a little bit—remind me of him. The way you talk sometimes. _Not_ that that's a bad thing." It was Jonathan's turn to flush. "I'm not suggesting that you're a complete asshat, either. My cousin Jem says I remind him of the Queen, but it's just his way of telling me that I'm stubborn, not that I'm a wrinkly old British lady." _Shit_. "I mean, you're great, Jonathan. Ignore my case of verbal diarrhea."

He sat down on my bed, his face in his hands. "Did you like him? From what you've said, it sounds like it. Your tone, I mean. Not your words, per se."

I sighed. "Maybe. I don't know. Every girl loved him, for his looks. But for me it was what was underneath that held value. Yeah, he could be a total asswad sometimes, but there was something _good_ underneath."

"So you think he was actually a pretty good guy?" Jonathan asked, awfully curious.

I spun around to completely face Jonathan in my spin-y chair. "That's what I'm thinking. I mean, you have a tonne of cat crap to sort through first, but I think that underneath that there's good. Or I could be totally off and he's all cat crap."

MAY 2009 – _Jace_

I could actually remember that moment; the second time I met Clary. During my lunch, I got a text from Alec saying that the office was paging me, so Aline and I rushed back, stopping only once to make out under the school's _Herondale Pavilion_, paid for by my father. It was our tradition, Aline and I. At the office, they 'broke' the news to me that I was voted the most attractive sophomore by randomly polled students. Apparently it was a very 'hush-hush' poll so to not alert any of the nominees. The idea had been suggested by a new girl, Clarissa Morgenstern. "She's a scholarship student," the principal told me, "and a very bright one at that. She suggested to create a yearbook page called Alicante's Choice Awards, who the students think are attractive, smart, the best athlete, and so on."

I was directed to go to the Yearbook office, where Miss Clarissa 'Mastermind behind Alicante's Choice Awards' Morgenstern was laughing as Simon Lewis, a self-proclaimed D&D champion—not that any of us really cared, took pictures of her with a new-looking camera, complete with professional-looking lens additions. Sitting up straighter, Clary assumed a professional air. "Helen stepped out of the office a minute ago," she said in a professional tone.

Simon butted in. "You can pose for a few sample photos so we can make sure the cameras are working properly, though. I just got this baby today, brand new and souped up." He made the camera in his hand sound like a new car. "Go stand by the green-screen."

I did as he said, rolling my eyes at him. I stood in front of the screen. "What next?"

Simon looked around, his eyes landing on his short friend. "Clary. Go pose with him." When she began to protest, Simon shook his head. "It's for the sake of photography, Clarissa. Just go pose. I promise it won't go in the yearbook."

"Fine, Simon. 'For the sake of photography' I will. You owe me, _big time_." Clary said. _Was posing beside me such a turn-off?_ _Most girls would kill to be in her shoes._ She walked up and stood beside me.

"Now, _pose_," Simon said with a flourish distinctly known to those who play role playing games for an overwhelming amount of time.

"You can think of England, if you like," I suggested. Maybe England was more attractive to her than posing with me.

"I've never been to England," she said, smiling at the camera. The flash went off and I looked down, taking in the fact that her head was in line with my chest. She was wearing a thin tank top with purple flowers on it that fell loose down to her hips where it was cinched with elastic, baring the tiniest strip of pale stomach. Her legs were clad in jeans, dark blue and not designer, and on her feet were a pair of brown flip-flops. She wasn't hideous, I guessed. Just not . . . one of Alicante's elite. Her hair was too red, too crazy. Everything about Clary screamed artsy, from her clothing to the splotch of paint on her forearm. Her teeth were like every low class New Yorkers, slightly coffee stained, although hers weren't out of place. _Braces_, I assumed.

Simon's 'souped up, brand new baby' flashed, momentarily blinding me. "Are we done here yet?" I demanded, the flash bringing me back to reality. _You're Jace Herondale_, it told me, _you shouldn't be thinking about how this nobody is maybe a little pretty in a classic way. You should be making out with your hotter-than-hell girlfriend Aline._

The light weight of Clary's petite body was removed from my side. I hadn't even realized that she was lightly leaning against me. What was wrong with me? "Yeah, I agree. Simon, put your child down and take Herondale's picture so he can get on with his life." Did I hear a bitter tone in her voice?

"You heard the girl," I told Simon. Begrudgingly, the dark haired boy took my picture and I was allowed to leave. As I was leaving I turned back, catching Clary lecturing Simon on something. My new word to describe her: fiery.

DECEMBER 2011 – _Jace_

Looking at that picture now was a cruel form of torture. There I stood, looking happy and popular and gorgeous. And Clary, looking the same as always. It was unfair that I had changed so much while she stayed practically the same. Jealousy aside, I had admired Clary that day, the way she seemed in control, strong. The differences between me and that Jace were firstly, the obvious, our looks, and secondly that I could now appreciate Clary's, well, Clary-ness without the accompanying feeling of guilt.

"You're staring at me. Why are you staring at me? Oh God, you don't think _I'm_ cat crap, do you?" Clary asked, covering her bright green eyes with her hands. I noticed that her normally plain nails were painted in Christmas colours. Gold, green, sparkly white, red, silver. Each nail on her hand had a different colour. Both of her thumbs were gold, her pointer-fingers green, middle fingers sparkly white, ring fingers red, and pinkies silver. Looking closer, I could see that her thumbs were painted like gold presents with little red ribbons drawn on them.

"No, I don't think you're . . . um . . . cat crap," I said, using her phrase. "I think you're . . . great, too." _Smooth, Jace. Careful, your old womanizer self is starting to show_, I thought sarcastically.

"Thanks," Clary said, offering him a thin smile. "What time is it, anyway? I've been up since, like, four." She wrinkled her nose, as if she couldn't believe she got up that early. "Why are you up so early?"

"I—I was wrapping. You know, last minute gifts." I said. _Nice save_. I had actually never gone to sleep. I was too excited about my present for Clary.

"Same! That's exactly what I've been doing! Well, actually, only sort of. Truthfully, I'm a four year old on the inside and I still get super excited on Christmas morning. But can you blame me? It's the greatest holiday!" Clary's green eyes glittered with excitement.

I laughed. Soft morning light slipped in through her half-open curtains, illuminating her face with its soft golden light. Her red hair was tinged with gold, her eyes sparkling, and eyelashes a natural strawberry-gold colour. _Beautiful_. Was I going soft? Jace Herondale did _not_ admire girls in the sunlight, unless it was after sex and she was naked. Well, no, not even then. Not even with Aline had that _ever_ happened. _You are not Jace Herondale_, I reminded myself. _Jace is dead_. "Well, I'll let you get dressed. I'm going to go wake Dorothea and Luke up. There's no use waiting if we're both awake already."

Clary nodded. "Oh, okay. If they're sleeping really deeply, you don't have to wake them up, though. I don't mind waiting. My dad used to make me wait until ten. _That_ was torture." There would be no problem waking Dorothea and Luke up, since they were supposed to be getting Clary's present ready. Smiling, I left Clary in her bedroom and made my way to put the finishing touches on her present.

DECEMBER 2011 – _Clary_

"There!" I said aloud, tying the finishing touch onto Jonathan's fully wrapped present. The finishing touch was a golden bow and a little sticker label that said 'To: Jonathan; From: Clary'. My laptop bleeped just as I was about to shut the top. A little icon was flashing, one that said 'You have a new notification'. I clicked on it and my computer pulled up Facebook. There was a message from Simon, saying '**We need to talk Clary**'.

I typed back '_What's up, Simon? Oh, and MERRY CHRISTMAS!_'

The response came: '**I really need to talk to you in person. Are you back from Alaska yet?**'

I bit my lip. I _knew_ Simon couldn't come here, and if I said yes, he would want to come and see me to talk. But Simon was my best friend. And he wouldn't tell anyone about Jonathan. '_Not yet. I get back after Christmas break, I think. My aunt hasn't told me anything yet :s_' I felt like kicking myself.

'**Okay. I'll talk to you when you get back. I tried to call you a few weeks ago, but a boy picked up your phone and said you were in Venice**' _What the hell?_, I thought.

I decided to leave it. Maybe Simon thought he had talked to me earlier but really never called me. '_Okay, Simon, but you never called me. No one has since I got to Alaska. Anyway, I have to go. Merry Christmas!'_

This time I actually shut my laptop. _I have to get dressed_, I thought, looking at the time that had passed since Jonathan went to go wake up Dorothea and Luke. I pulled on a pair of grey leggings and a floral-lacy three-quarter length white shirt. I pulled my hair out of its bun and for once in my life it actually fell in proper spirally curls. I wasn't one for wearing make-up normally, but today was different. It was Christmas. Instead of wearing a simple swipe of brown mascara like I usually did, I spritzed myself with some of the expensive perfume Jonathan had placed in the room for me before I even arrived and used some of the—also expensive—black mascara he placed with the perfume. I spun the mascara around before I could get a good glimpse at the brand and realize how expensive the crap I was putting on my eyelashes was.

Downstairs, Dorothea, Luke and Jonathan were sitting on the plush couches in the living room, looking wide awake. The 'perfect' tree Jonathan and I had chosen and decorated.

_"Why are we decorating the tree with pickles and spiders?" Jonathan asks._

_ I swat him with my snowflake decoration. "Do you know nothing about Christmas traditions? The pickle and spider are German Christmas traditions. Here, since it's your first Christmas with a pickle on your tree you can hide it. You better make it a good hiding place though, because I am a champ at finding that thing."_

_ "Oh, are you so sure of that, Clarissa?" Jonathan taunts, twirling the pickle around his finger by its small metal hook._

_ "Yes, Jonathan, I am. If you're so cocky about your hiding abilities, how about a bet? If I find the pickle within five minutes on Christmas Eve, I get to open my presents first _and_ I get to chose dinner. If I can't find it, you get to open yours first and _you_ can chose dinner." I said, as seriously as I could._

_ Jonathan's gold eyes sparked good-humouredly. "Game on, Clarissa. Get ready to lose."_

"Merry Christmas, Miss Clary!" Dorothea said, completely forgetting that I had told her not to call me 'Miss' weeks ago when I first arrived.

"Merry Christmas Dorothea, Luke." I turned to Jonathan. "Jonathan." I hefted my little bag of presents up and placed them in front of the beautiful Christmas tree.

"So, Clary, who won our little bet last night?" Jonathan asked, a cocky tone entering his voice.

Dorothea and Luke shared a _look_. "No, _no_, not like that. He bet me that I couldn't find his pickle—" I started. Luke started to crack up and my face turned cherry red. "I mean, I bet him that I could find this ornament—which, yes, is a pickle—on the Christmas tree in less than five minutes and I lost." Jonathan coughed as I said this, prompting me to add, begrudgingly, "Because Jonathan is a supreme Christmas ornament hider." I stuck my tongue out at him—childish, I know.

"Who gets to open his present's first, painfully slow, making Miss Clary wait painstakingly to open hers," Jonathan teased good-naturedly.

Dorothea clapped her hands. "Okay. We start now." And that was that. Jonathan opened his first gift—one from Dorothea, which held a handmade checkered scarf wrapped around a beginner's cookbook—'_So you can learn how to use the kitchen_', she claimed. In another gift from Dorothea, which Jonathan took one look at and said that she shouldn't have, was something in a picture frame he wouldn't let me see.

"Dorothea, you _shouldn't_ have," he said, putting extra stress on the '_shouldn't_'. "But thank you." He further opened the package, after hiding the picture I apparently wasn't allowed to see. I wondered what he could have to hide from me. Hadn't we gotten to the point where we could call each other _friends_? He pulled out yet another picture frame, this one free of any contraband photos because he actually showed it to me. It was a gold-metal set of four picture frames.

"For pictures of you and Clary," Dorothea said with a bright smile that lit up her whole face. The idea was sweet, kind, thoughtful, only something that Dorothea would have thought to give Jonathan.

He thanked her and opened up the next package, the one from Luke. He seemed completely driven to _torture me_. I had once told him that I enjoyed watching people open presents from me as much as I enjoyed opening up presents myself. The first package from Luke held two books, _Shakespeare for Dummies_ and _A Complete Collection of Shakespeare's Sonnets_, which I got a laugh out of. Jonathan, in the past weeks, had shared with me his 'hatred' of Shakespeare, calling him an 'ancient British guy who enjoys torturing students of the twenty-first century by using old language and recycling his plot lines again and again, making his tragedies not only _tragic_, but predictable'. I had to disagree; I thought that Shakespeare was romantic—not in a Nicholas Sparks kind of way—but in a classic, age-old-tale of romance, heart break, and drama kind of way.

His next present from Luke was a camera. A _freaking_ professional photography camera. "Dorothea and I correlated our presents for you. The picture frame is for the pictures you take with the camera." Luke explained.

After a lot of _ooh _-ing and _aww_-ing on my part as Jonathan opened the camera up and saw that it came with different lens sizes for different views, Jonathan finally picked up my first present for him. He unwrapped it slowly, probably savouring the awaiting expression on my face. I smiled as the paper tore and the four of us could see—well, and Luke could sense us seeing—a glimpse of the green cover of the scrapbook. He tore of the remaining paper so we could see the full cover, including the gold inscription of my initials in the top left-hand corner, and the tiny cursive writing which I painstakingly did myself that read '_To Jonathan, Merry Christmas!_' He opened the scrapbook, looking at the title page and flipping to the first painting. "Clary," he breathed, "did you put this whole thing together for me?" I nodded. He continued flipping, his breath catching at the sketch of him I put in the 'light' section. "These are _so good_." Dorothea chimed in her appreciation as well, saying that I should paint something on a larger canvas to put up in the living room for decoration.

"There's one more! Come on, open it!" I told him, practically throwing the present at him. He opened it reluctantly, like it was holding a bomb. Instead, he found it holding a beginner's art set. More importantly, _my_ beginner art set. "I know it's used, and I know you might not even use it, but—"

Jonathan cut me off. "Clary, it's great. I love it. It's perfect. You're—" I could almost picture him saying '_You're perfect_' and then kissing me, but instead he said, "You're great at choosing sentimental gifts." I almost felt like I had been rejected. _You shouldn't care_, I thought. _This is _Jonathan_; he's practically your best friend. Remember what happened when Simon kissed you? You whole friendship—_BAM!—_up in flames, never to be the same again_.

"I'm _so_ glad you like it!" I said, giving him my Christmas-morning smile.

"Your turn now, Miss Clary. Do not worry, Luke and I will go last." Dorothea said, handing me a wrapped package. It read that it was from Luke, and it felt around the right weight for books, and judging by the thickness of the package, probably two of them. The first was _A Complete Collection of Shakespeare's Sonnets_, which I assumed was the next thing we were going to be studying in class, and the second book was _Pride and Prejudice_, my all-time favourite that my father had burned when he found out that I had flushed his stash of coke last April. I'd mentioned loving the book to Luke once or twice during classes and I guess he remembered. It was a sweet gesture. The next package from him was a set of charcoal pencils, my second favourite medium, and a new sketch pad. It was the perfect size, being small enough to fit into a backpack or purse but large enough to sketch properly on. The first hundred pages were for charcoal and the second hundred pages were for watercolour.

From Dorothea, I got a scarf like Jonathan, only mine was blue and his was red. My scarf was wrapped around a cookbook as well, only where Jonathan's had actual food recipes in it, mine was all cookies and cakes and baked goods. "Now you can learn to cook together." Dorothea proclaimed. The next gift from her was a huge canvas, so I could decorate the house, I guessed.

Jonathan had a _stack_ of presents for me, and a feeling of guilt welled up in my throat. I had only gotten him _two_ presents and I hadn't paid a dime for either of them. I opened the first package from him; feeling like my heart was being squeezed. It was a shoe box, and a long one at that. I opened the box, uncovering a pair of caramel coloured tall boots lined with sheepskin and sheepskin showing along the seams of the ankle and along the leg part of the boot. They were gorgeous. "Jonathan, these are _gorgeous_," I breathed, "but I can't accept these. Jonathan, these are, like, _four hundred dollar boots_!"

Jonathan put a hand on my legging-clad leg. "Clary, it's a reasonable gift. Your boots are falling apart, so you needed new ones. Just finish opening your presents. Why I got them for you will make sense."

I nodded and opened the next present. It was a bag, puffy, fur-trimmed jacket. Jonathan had ripped the tags off, probably so I wouldn't see the price, but I could tell it was expensive by the brand name and the familiar check lining. I bit my lip and swallowed the little bit of my pride that was stopping me from being grateful for Jonathan's thoughtful gift. My jacket _was_ falling apart, I mean, I'd had it for _years_, since I was ten or eleven at least. "Thank you," I tried to sound as grateful as I could.

"You're welcome. There's still more, open the next box."Jonathan said, smiling. The next box was smaller, but still larger than a jewellery box. I shook it, hearing _nothing_ move.

"Did you get me an empty box?" I asked. When Jonathan shook his head, I started unwrapping it. Inside the mysterious box were a hat, a pair of earmuffs, and a pair of mittens. The hat was aviator style and chocolate coloured to match the boots and the coat; it was the in-between colour, darker than the boots but lighter than the jacket. And when I say 'match the boots', I mean they matched the boots in every possible way, from the material to the exposed sheepskin along the seams and along the inside. The earmuffs were also chocolate brown with shearling lining. They felt _so soft_. The mittens were knit on the outside with a pattern of moose and snowflakes. Inside they were lined with fleece for extra warmth. The tag said that they were rated for keeping your fingers warm for temperatures down to fifteen degrees below in Celsius, which was five degrees in Fahrenheit. _Brrr_. "Thank you _so_—" I started.

"There's more. Keep opening. And promise me you won't get mad." Jonathan said. I nodded, taking the last box nervously. It was a necklace with two little silver and diamond pendants on it; one a 'C' and the other a 'J'. C for Clary and J for Jonathan.

"Thank you _so much_, Jonathan! This is the _sweetest_ gift anyone has _ever_ gotten for me! You're the best friend I've ever had, Jonathan." I said, not mad in the least for the extravagant present. This, this thoughtful gift was Jonathan's version of my used beginner's paint set kit. It brought us together.

"Look in the box." Jonathan said, smiling at me and my acceptance of my gift. I did, finding a single slip of paper. I hoped it wasn't the gift receipt because seeing how much Jonathan spent on me would probably send the thoughts I was repressing home. I unfolded it with my heart sitting in the middle of my throat. **Pack your bags**, it read, **we're vacationing in the Alps.** I screamed.

"Oh my God, Jonathan you have to be joking! The _Alps_? Like, in _Italy_ and _Switzerland_? Over the ocean; we're talking about those Alps, right? I've never even been on a plane before. Oh _my God_!" I said, words tumbling out of my mouth in shock and excitement.

DECEMBER 2011 – _Jace_

"My dad owed me a favour and we have a little chalet in the Italian Alps, so I thought you'd like to go there for 'winter break'. I know that since we aren't in real school that we don't have winter vacation, but I thought that maybe—" Clary didn't let me finish my sentence. She threw her arms around me and hugged me, pressing her warm body to mine.

"Thank you," she said, placing her soft lips on my cheek. "This is the _sweetest_ gift anyone has given me. _Ever_. Thank you, Jonathan. You're a great friend." The way she said it made it sound like we could be something more. Maybe.

_Because maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me_

_And after all_

_You're my wonderwall_

—_Wonderwall_, Oasis

**So now that we've celebrated Christmas, we get to go to the Alps. Where there is more snow. The upside to this is that reading/writing it _sort of_ keeps you cool in the hot summer (or at least it's hot and humid where I am, so this keeps my mind in a 'cold' mood). Anyway, until next time, thank you for your support and for reading this! I already have the next chapter started, so all reviewers will get a teaser from the upcoming chapter. I hope to update sometime next week. **

**xoxo**


	14. The Reason

**Hello! So this is the first of my summer fast-updates! I'm so sorry that I forgot to send out teasers to everyone who reviewed, but I figure this update makes up for it. So, everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and those who review this one will both receive a teaser of Chapter 15. This chapter is filler-ish, but I hope it clears some stuff up.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

14. The Reason

_I'm not a perfect person_

_There's many things I wish I didn't do_

_But I continue learning_

_I never meant to do those things to you_

_And so I have to say before I go_

_That I just want you to know_

—_The Reason_, Hoobastank

DECEMBER 2011 – _Jace_

Dorothea and Luke opened their presents and sent us upstairs to 'pack'. Dorothea had gotten a painting of a beach with palm trees from Clary, a gift card to the spa from me as well as a cheque to send over to her family and a bouquet of roses, and a couple of scarves from Luke. Luke had received a hand-knit scarf from Dorothea, his green, some books in Braille from Clary, and a few ties and a new jacket from me. I'd been packing last night, making sure that I had _everything_, so while I was waiting for Clary, I did something I hadn't done in a while. I checked my Facebook.

Unsurprisingly, I had three messages from Alec. Surprisingly, Mother Alec was swearing at me. Well, in his unique Alec way.

**You are such a massive d***, Jace Herondale. "Boarding school in England?" Hah, yeah right. Yeah f***ing right. **

Posted _one month ago_

**Magnus and I are in Europe until after Christmas. If you feel like visiting us, you b******, reply to this message. You know, whenever it's f***ing worth your time.**

Posted _one month ago_

**You are so full of c***, Jace. You aren't man enough to reply to this? Where the h*** are you, exactly? Rehab? The moon?**

Posted _one month ago_

I rolled my eyes at the messages. Their context didn't hurt, like Alec probably expected them to. They didn't _inspire_ me to answer him. But the fact that he thought I was in _England_ blew me away. I posted pictures of myself in _France_, not England. So I replied.

_Alec, calm down. I'm at boarding school in France. Hence the name, the _Paris Institute._ You might've gotten confused because my boarding school has a 'sister school' in England, but I am in France. Actually, I'm leaving to spend Christmas Break in Monaco. You can visit me in Monte Carlo if you like._

As I hit send, I felt like my old life was crashing down around me like a tidal wave. I disappeared. I made _Alec_ mad at me. _Alec_. Being with Clary was like living in my own personal bubble. I could enjoy myself and forget that if I ever became Jace Herondale again, that if I ever broke this curse, I would have a shit-load of things to fix.

I shut my laptop down, desperate for my bubble. I looked at the matter at hand. I had four months left. My year was more than half over and I had made minimum progress. Then I thought about today's almost-kiss. _Her lips were on my cheek_. Her lips! Just the thought of that brought my bubble back. _I need more time_. _If I had more time, I'd be able to make her fall for me. I know it_.

So I picked up the mirror. The silver, gilt-framed one that Kaelie gave me. I looked into it, and for a split second, my old face appeared on the mirror. The golden-eyed, blond, perfect face that forever lived as Clary's desktop background. I stared at it, mesmerized. I pictured myself, wearing that face, walking down the street with Clary in broad daylight. No more hiding in shadows wearing my hood up. Then, like when you toss as stone into a perfectly calm lake, _that_ reflection dissipated and my current reflection appeared. Clary's paintings made me look much better than I did in reality. She made the sharp, gaunt panes of my face look attractive, like it was carved from marble. She made the tattoos look like works of art on my face. She made the shape of my lips, partially pulled to the side by the scar running along my cheek, look perfect. She made my eyes look light and hopeful, whereas the 'me' in the mirror showed deep-set, dark eyes full of despair. _That's what I put on canvas—a reflection of the inner soul_. Did she think my inner soul was good and beautiful? I could only hope so.

I stared into the mirror, ignoring my reflection. I thought of Kaelie and the mirror panned to a small dark apartment. A light flickered on and an annoyed voice said, "What the hell do you want now, Herondale?"

"I need more time," I replied.

She laughed. "And _what_ do you think entitles you to deserve more time?"

"Nothing!" I protested. "Except that I've been working my ass off all this time to try breaking your curse, and now I think I may have a chance, but I need more time! I've learned that I can't start a real relationship in five months. That _just_ gets me to being friends. Maybe good friends if I'm lucky. That's why my parents' relationship failed. They got married right out of high school and they barely knew each other, let alone who they were. I _need_ more time!" I pleaded, even though I had sworn to myself I wouldn't.

Kaelie's face came on the screen. "Curses don't work that way. There is _no_ loophole."

I slammed my fist down on the desk. "Damn you! This is your fault, you know."

"I know. We've been over this, remember? You were sitting in your old house playing the piano. You haven't done that since Clary came to live with you, have you? Oh, and _Clary_. The girl you gave the rose to, right? She's not as 'plain and poor' as you thought, now is she? Does she know who you really are?" Kaelie asked, her voice cool and collected.

"Leave Clary alone." I said, my voice completely calm and flat.

"Ooh, I struck a nerve, didn't I? So I guess you think you care about things now, don't you?" Kaelie asked.

"Of course I care! What kind of sick bastard doesn't? I care about the fact that I'm Luke's only job because he's blind, and I care that my maid hasn't seen her family since she started working for my family. I care that Clary's father might be worse than mine, but that she still seems to care about him. And Clary. I care about Clary. The other day, I thought about how I first met her when I bumped into her in the hallway and that for days after we smashed into each other, people teased her for dropping all of her books. It hurts me to think of her being hurt. So if you can't help me, will you help them? Can you bring Dorothea back to her family and give Luke his sight? And Clary, if I don't break this curse, can you make sure that she gets everything she wants in life? Especially her scholarship at Alicante back; it would kill all of her dreams if she was denied re-entrance into the school. Look, I'm not perfect, but I'm _trying_ here, Kaelie._ Please_. " I begged.

"You really do care," she mused. I nodded. "Fine. I'll make you a deal. _If_ you break the curse, I will send Dorothea back to her family and give Luke his sight. As for Clary, if you succeed, I will ensure that she is allowed to attend Alicante again. But _only_if you succeed."

"Thank you. Thank you!" I replied, grateful.

"Oh and Jace, have fun in the Alps. And good luck. Like I said before, I'm not rooting for you to fail." Kaelie said before her face vanished from the mirror. I set the mirror down, feeling my features lift into a smile. What was happening to me? I didn't get what I wanted—extra time—but I was still happy. I was happy because my success was then tied to Luke and Dorothea benefiting.

I could hear Clary dragging her suitcase down the stairs so I hurried to haul mine out of my room as well. "Jonathan?" her voice called from a flight of stairs above me.

"Yeah?" I replied, wondering what she was going to ask. Her voice had a curious tone to it.

"How are we getting to the Alps? You know, since you don't want anyone to see you?" Her question was perfectly innocent, but that made it all the trickier to answer.

DECEMBER 2011: _One Week Earlier . . ._ – _Jace_

"Dad, I need another favour. You owe me one for keeping quiet this long." I said.

"What is it, Jace?" His reply sounded tired, bored.

"I want to take Clary to our chalet in the Alps." I replied.

I could hear him sigh. "Who's Clary?" he demanded.

"The girl who's living with me. And don't give me crap about it. You've left me to live with the maid and my _blind_ tutor for months now, so you've basically relinquished any _guardian_ status you had."

Another sigh on his part. "This poses a problem, Jace. How do we know she won't send photos of you in to the tabloids for money?"

I was appalled that he would think of Clary that way. Of course, this _was_ my dad. He thought of everyone that may. Like the whole world rotated around him. "You don't know her, she wouldn't. But I might. If you don't make this possible."

"Well, you can't take a commercial airline, so I will have to charter a private jet to come pick you up. Your grandmother owns one; I can send hers to come pick you up. And I can call some friends in Italian customs to warn them of your arrival. You can land at your grandmother's private airport strip there and I will pay off a limo driver to pick you up on the tarmac. How long will you be staying for?" That was my dad for you. One little threat and he was ready to comply, especially where his reputation was concerned.

"Two weeks. We would like to leave at four on Christmas." I replied. I had planned this all out.

"I'll see what I can do. Call me if anything goes wrong on Christmas, Jace." He hung up. That was it. No 'goodbye', no 'Merry Christmas, Jace'. Just 'Call me if anything goes wrong'. I shook my head and put my cell phone down.

DECEMBER 2011 – _Jace_

"Private jet. I spoke to my father and he set it up. As a Christmas present to me." That was a lie, but it was unlikely that Clary would ever meet the man, let alone learn who he was.

Clary was wearing the jacket I bought her over a pair of black jeans which were tucked into her new boots. Her new scarf from Dorothea was sitting inside her new hat from me, and her mittens were in her left hand. I could see her new silver necklace around her neck, just peeking out from under the coat where it opened at her throat.

"You're right, Jonathan. I _did_ need a new coat. I hoped I packed enough clothing. I don't exactly have enough for a new outfit every day. You have a washer and dryer there, right?" Clary asked, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

"Don't worry," I told. There _was_ a washer and dryer, but I had bought some clothes for her and sent them over. She didn't have to wear them, but I saw them and before I knew it I was hitting the purchase button and putting them on my father's tab. "We have everything there."

Clary smiled and Dorothea walked in to tell us to bring our suitcases out to the limo. We loaded them into the back, and climbed into the limo. Clary unzipped her coat and collapsed on the plush limo seats. "Do me a favour, Jonathan, and put the radio on . . ." She didn't have to finish her sentence. I pushed the power button and quickly found Clary's Christmas channel, turning it up so that Luke and Dorothea, who were sitting on the opposite end of the stretch limo, could hear it.

"You know, they won't have 24-hour English Christmas songs playing in Italy," I told her, relaxing back on my seat.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I loaded a _ton_ of Christmas songs onto my laptop." Clary said brightly, lifting up her carry-on to show me her laptop. I hadn't thought to bring mine, but I guessed it was a good idea. The limo pulled out of our driveway and started to drive towards the private airport my grandmother's jet was parked in. I just hoped that my grandmother didn't name her plane anything with our last name on it. Lying to Clary was wrong, but I _couldn't_ let her know who I was.

"You know, I've never been on a plane before. Is it scary?" Clary asked.

I shook my head. "The feeling at take-off is fun. You took physics in school right?" Clary had mentioned physics once or twice to me and I knew that we were in the same physics class last year. She nodded. "Well, when the airplane takes off you feel one G of force."

That didn't seem to reassure her. "Jonathan, that's not very comforting. We're not going to crash are we?"

I laughed and bumped shoulders with her. Clary smiled brightly and started singing along to the radio, butchering _My Grown-Up Christmas List_. "If you're going to make fun of my singing, you have to sing to. It's only fair," Clary argued. So when the next song came on, I joined in.

"This is so unfair," Clary grumbled as I sang along to the Christmas song. "I've been singing Christmas songs around the house for weeks and then you just come along and start singing one song and you sound great."

I rolled my eyes. "I play the piano, so I have good pitch. Now shut up and sing along with me, or I'll stop singing and I won't start again," I replied. Clary smiled, shrugged and started singing along with me.

We arrived at the private airport at exactly two thirty. A man dressed in a blue captain's suit shook hands with Dorothea and Luke, introducing himself as my grandmother's pilot, Daniel Le Vol, and directing two men dressed in blue to the trunk of the limo to retrieve our luggage. I pulled my hood up and looked at Clary, who looked like a kid about to go on the school bus for the first time. I nudged her arm. "You'll be fine."

Clary held my hand all through take-off, chewing her gum frantically and reprimanding me every time I stopped talking to her. "You _have_ to talk to me. Tell me a story or something. _Anything_. If I start to think, then I'll start freaking out and focus on the fact that my ears are hurting like _hell_."

So I told her a story. "Once upon a time, there was a young prince who lived in a huge castle with his parents."

"In England?" Clary asked hopefully. "I've always wanted to go to England." '_You can think of think of England, if you like._' _'I've never been to England.'_

"Of course in England," I teased her. "Now be quiet and listen." I took a deep breath. "The boy's parents gave him everything he wanted—horses, swords, armour. But the boy was lonely. His strict father wouldn't let him associate with the 'peasant class' and was also afraid that his only heir could get himself into trouble and be killed, leaving the boy's father with no heir to the throne and forcing him to relinquish his reign."

"And no king wants that," Clary said, nodding.

I gave her a gentle smile and continued, happy that she was chewing her wad of gum at a normal, calm speed. "The boy's mother was more compassionate than his father. She took the boy out of London for some air, bringing him to their hunting cabin by the sea. There, she gave the boy a present. 'This, my son, is a hunting falcon. A fierce knight of the sky. He is yours to train. Your father told me to send for him once you think you trained the bird properly.' The boy jumped at the opportunity to please his father and was happy to have a companion. The boy's mother was gone for long periods of time during the day, on business, she'd claim. The boy's only friend was the falcon. The creature was fierce and would slash at him with its beak and talons when he came near. For weeks, the servants were always fussing around the boy, wrapping up his bleeding hands and wrists. The boy had a plan though. He sat beside the falcon, letting it slash and squawk at him. He hummed to the bird and when night was approaching he would stay up and talk to it, because someone had once told him that a tired bird was easier to train. The boy learned all about the equipment. There were the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his arm. His father had warned him, long before, that when training an animal, you were supposed to keep it blind. But the boy wanted the bird to trust him, so he sat where the falcon could see him and stroked its beak and wings. Soon, the bird learned to eat out of his hand, first slowly, carefully, and then it would eat so savagely that it would open up the old wounds on the boy's hands from when he was first training the falcon. When the falcon flew for the first time, the boy was taken aback by how beautiful it was—the way it was built for speed, how swift and fierce it was in flight. The bird began to trust the boy; it would even sit on his shoulder and put its beak in his hair. That was when he knew that he had tamed the falcon; that it might've even began to love him.

I looked over at Clary, who was smiling. "The boy told his mother, who then sent a message to the king. The boy's father arrived within days and the boy proudly showed him the tamed bird. The beautiful trusting falcon didn't react when the boy's father snatched it off of the boy's shoulder and held it in his hands. 'This bird is not tamed,' the boy's father said. 'It is broken. Falcons are meant to be fierce and wild, savage and cruel. Instead you taught it to love you.' The boy's father held the trusting falcon tightly in his hands and snapped its neck. 'I've told you before, son,' he said, 'that to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed.' The boy cried for days over his dead pet; he even buried it in the garden of their hunting lodge. The next day he was preparing to leave the hunting lodge for their castle in London, feeling disgraced and disappointed with himself. That was when he saw his mother, whom he loved, kissing a man who was not his father. The boy found himself dry-eyed, staring at the ceiling in his bedroom. He never cried again, and he never forgot what his father taught him: Love makes you weak."

"That was an awful story. The boy's father was _horrible_," Clary said, her voice tinged with sleep. I looked out the window, seeing the great expanse of water beneath us. I shut the window.

"You can sleep now, Clary. I'll wake you up when we're over the coast of Spain." I told her.

"Wait—Jonathan, your story? Was it true? Is the falcon where you got your scars from?" I was spared having to answer her when Clary's eyes closed. I thought about how my mother took me to our lake house one spring, handing me the savage bird. How I spent hours upon hours sitting with her, humming and talking, stroking her feathers and teaching her to fly and return to my arm, only to have my father tell me that instead of taming her, I broke her. I even _named_ my falcon. Jessamine was my first pet, the second being my dumbass cat Agent Catnip, although you can't really blame him for being stupid especially with a name like Agent Catnip. That was _begging_ for my cat to be messed up. The dumb thing even tried to mate with Alec's cat Church, who was _also a boy_.

I pulled out my binder full of letters to Clary and started to write.

DECEMBER 2011 – _Clary_

I woke up slowly, feeling the jet shifting because of turbulence, I guessed. I could feel pressure on my shoulder. I opened my eyes a crack, seeing Jonathan's sleeping face tilted towards the window. His arm was draped over my shoulder with his fingers in my hair. "Jonathan," I whispered, running my hand along the line of his jaw. All of his sharp features were dulled by sleep, making him look young and vulnerable. I wondered how often he let people through his hard facade.

His hand reached up and clasped mine, gently guiding it down his cheek. I could feel every slight imperfection, but to me they told a story. I had come to believe that scars are a retelling of our life storied, out in the open for everyone to read if they care enough. I had my own scars, a tear-shaped one on my shoulder from when I got chicken pox, a scar running along the inner side of my foot from when my father left a knife lying on the ground and I hit it with my foot. I had another scar from where one of the dealers my father was getting his drugs from snapped it when I refused to let him into our house. The break wasn't clean and I remembered the bone jutting out slightly, just enough to pierce the skin and leave a jagged, ugly scar. The doctors had said that I was lucky the splinter of bone didn't pierce any major veins or arteries.

"Clary?" Jonathan asked his voice sleepy.

"Yes, I'm right here, Jonathan. Do you know where we are?" I asked. I peered over him at our closed window. The map on the screen in front of us said we were somewhere over the coast of Spain.

He opened the window so I could see the lights of Spain's coastline. "We're over Spain. Isn't it beautiful at night?"

I nodded. "Are we about half-way to the Alps?"

"Yes. Do you want to watch a movie or would you rather go back to sleep?" He asked me.

I didn't even have to think about it. "Movie," I said automatically. "I felt like I was riding a roller coaster when I was sleeping."

Four hours and two movies later, we were over the Alps.

_I've found a reason for me_

_To change who I used to be_

_A reason to start over new_

_And the reason is you_

—_The Reason_, Hoobastank

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter! So, I promise, everyone who reviewed the last chapter and everyone who reviews this chapter will get a teaser-excerpt of Chapter 15. So, until my next update**. **Reviews? I _promise_ that the next chapter will be more exciting!**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


	15. Merry Christmas Darling

**Hello all! I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to update for . . . awhile. But here's the next chapter! I'm sorry that it's sort of short, but I had a huge case of writer's block and homework. Without further adieu, the chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

15. Merry Christmas Darling

_Holidays are joyful__  
__There's always something new__  
__But every day's a holiday__  
__When I'm near to you__  
__The lights on my tree__  
__I wish you could see__  
__I wish it every day__  
__Logs on the fire__  
__Fill me with desire_

—_Merry Christmas Darling, _The Carpenters

DECEMBER 2011 – _Clary_

Jonathan's house in the Alps was _beautiful_. After the horrific task of landing, in which I convinced Jonathan to try teaching me minimal Italian so that I could sort of have a hope of communicating with people in case I got lost, I stepped onto the tarmac—the hard, solid, _unmoving_ tarmac—and was promptly escorted with Jonathan into the limo. A stocky and balding Italian customs officer came over to stamp our passports, which Luke gave to him. "How did you get your passport picture taken if your dad doesn't want anyone seeing you?" I had asked him, curiosity getting the better of me.

"He's got connections. It's all so secretively done that even I don't know." Jonathan had shoved his passport into his bag, clearly not going to show it to me. My passport photo sucked. I looked like I was a ghost—pale white skin looks even paler against a white background, especially after the photographer decided that my face looked 'sticky' and smeared some chalky white powder on it.

Anyway, about Jonathan's _chalet_: It was gorgeous. It was a log cabin, albeit a _large_ log cabin, but a log cabin nonetheless. It was perfect. A small chimney puffed out little clouds of steam from the fire inside. There were huge bay windows that gave a perfect view of our serene setting. Tall snow-covered pines trees wrapped around the back of the chalet, giving it a nestled-in-nature feeling. Inside, it felt like a mansion. Fur rugs sat on the floor and all of the couches were plush and velvet. It had four floors—a living room, kitchen and the works on the first floor, two bedrooms with their own private bathrooms and a shared living room with a large flat screen TV on the second floor, two more bedrooms with their own private bathrooms and another shared living room with a large flat screen TV on the third floor, and the fourth floor was an attic that Jonathan claimed he'd never ventured into. I told him we would have to peruse through the treasures up there one day, which caused him to laugh and say that all we could expect to find up there was a bunch of dusty old furniture.

It was five in the afternoon when we walked through the door and the first thing Dorothea did was send us all upstairs to unpack and change for dinner while she prepared a 'special something'. She quickly told us our rooming arrangements, taking the role of 'mother of the house'. I was on the third floor with Jonathan and Luke and Dorothea were to share the second floor. Then she shooed us out of the kitchen with a wave of her hand.

So I went, and to my surprise, found that my closet was fully stocked with beautiful things with expensive brand names. So this was what Jonathan meant when he said that 'We have everything there'. I bit my lip. This was just Jonathan's way. He seemed to enjoy spending money on me, much to my embarrassment. I felt like I needed to give him something in return, which I clearly did not have. But I was grateful that he brought me to this beautiful place and happy that he didn't put any beautiful, expensive clothing in the dresser, leaving me drawer space for my significantly less expensive wardrobe.

I walked into the bathroom, positioning myself squarely in front of the sink. After briefly struggling with the fact that there were no knobs on this sink, just two foot pedals on the floor, and discerning which one was for hot water and which was for cold water (the C was for hot and the F was for cold, I learned), I stomped on the F for Cold pedal and scooped up a handful of icy Italian Alps water. I splashed it on my face, enjoying the cool sensation of the water. I toweled my face off, pinned a few straggling curls behind my ear with little bobby pins and went back into my bedroom. My door, which I had left partially open, had a slip of paper taped to it. Tentatively, I peeled the paper off and opened it.

_CIary, I know you've probably discovered the closet full of clothing. My father, who had the idea of you staying with me for safety months ago, decided that he was being a horrible host and decided it was time to make up for it. Well, in his own way. You don't have to wear the clothing, but it's the outcome of my father and I working together for the first time in years. _

_See you at dinner, _

_Jonathan_

That explained it. I had expressed my distaste for people trying to buy my forgiveness months ago. It _was_ awfully nice of Jonathan's father to buy them all for me, and I _was_ grateful to him for letting me stay with Jonathan, at least until I was out of danger. So I swallowed my pride and opened up the closet, choosing the most casual dress I could find. It was a pale pink A-line sleeveless crepe dress with a gathered waist, accentuated by a pale pink rose, and two little roses on the right shoulder. Feeling bare, I opened my suitcase and pulled out a pair of soft grey leggings. After pulling them on, I shoved my feet into a pair of moccasins, which were the simplest looking shoes in the closet. I grabbed my toiletries bag out of my suitcase and walked back to the bathroom. I slipped on the dress and shoes, then opened my toiletries bag, spritzed myself with some nice smelling body spray and slicked on some lip gloss. I looked at myself in the mirror, deciding that I was presentable.

Across the hallway, Jonathan's door was closed. There were no other notes on my door, so I walked down the stairs to the dining room. The table in the room was long and wooden. Dorothea had food sitting in silver platters with covers on them, hiding their contents. Luke was sitting at the head of the table. He must've heard my footsteps as I approached because his unseeing eyes turn to look at me. "Clary, please, sit down," he said. "Dorothea is just grabbing some drinks from the fridge." I nodded and took a seat at the long table.

Jonathan walked in shortly before Dorothea did. He held a crystal vase of roses, red and white. "For you," he said, as he placed them in front of me at the table. They were absolutely gorgeous.

"They're beautiful, Jonathan. Thank you," I said, leaning forward to breathe in their sweet scent. "What's the occasion?"

Jonathan sat down across from me, leaving the head of the table for Dorothea. "It's Christmas. And I felt like it. Do I need an ulterior motive?" he asked, laughing.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks. Of _course_. Jonathan was only being nice. That wasn't a surprise, nice was in his nature. I was foolish to think they meant anything else. "Well, they're beautiful and they're my favourite flower. So, for that, thank you . . . again. I wish I could've gotten you more."

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, you can. You can give me—one-on-one—art lessons. Although, I can't promise that I'll be the quickest learner. I may be a little artistically challenged."

I looked around. "Well, there is no shortage of inspiration here. Finding your inspiration is half the battle in art." I half hoped for Jonathan to say, '_I don't need to look to the mountains for inspiration. I only need you_.'

Instead, he said, "The mountains _are_ beautiful." Luckily, Dorothea brought the drinks in and we started to eat, sparing me from having to respond.

Sometime between the appetizer and the main course, Jonathan noticed that I was wearing one of the dresses his father had bought for me. "That dress looks great on you," he said, smiling. His gaze was appraising and I felt a blush heat up my cheeks.

"Thanks," I replied. "All of the dresses in the closet are beautiful. I could change what I'm wearing two or three times each day that we're here and only wear about three quarters of all the beautiful clothes in there. Your father really outdid himself. You'll have to thank him for me."

"I will," Jonathan said, sounding sincere in a way that made me wonder whether he actually would or not. "And you know we can take them back to New York with us. They're yours now; you can bring them wherever you want."

We finished dinner to the tune of light chatter, mostly me gushing about the scenery and Jonathan explaining it to Luke because I, apparently, couldn't describe the scenery without saying the word 'beautiful' twice every sentence.

DECEMBER 2011 – _Isabelle_

I could not remember a time when I looked and felt this _awful_ since I was ten and had strep throat. I had horrendous bags under my eyes and my hair was a mess because I hadn't bothered to put any product into it. Today was Christmas. Simon and I were _supposed_ to be attending Aline's family's traditional Christmas party. I felt like I ruined the only good thing in my life all because I was jealous that Simon's poor, ginger 'best' friend just so happened to be a girl.

That was when Alec entered the house. I was sitting on the couch, watching _The Holiday_ for the second time that week. "Isabelle, I've only been gone for a few months. What happened to you?"

I'd forgotten what it was like to have Alec around. He was a major pain in the ass sometimes, but he was also the most caring and mood-sensitive brother in the world. "I screwed up, Alec. Like the epic-est of epic fails screwed up."

Alec sat down beside me and threw his arm around my shoulders. He smelled like Magnus' cologne and I swore that he had some glitter in his hair. I once, jokingly, told Simon that my brother was dating the gay glitter fairy of Brooklyn and that said gay glitter fairy pissed shimmer mist and pooped out glitter. The memory only made me bury my head deeper into Alec's shoulder. "Iz, I _highly_ doubt that you messed up _that_ badly. Is this worse than the time you 'accidentally' left Max at a park because he drew with Sharpies all over your clothes?"

I had to laugh at that. "God, I'm _awful_, aren't I? Max was _two and a half_. And this might be worse. At least I had you around then to tell Mom where I left Max and to call it an accident for me. There's nothing you can do to fix this. I cheated on Simon," I told him.

Alec laughed—a sharp, uncaring bark of laughter that was uncommon for him. "Thank God! I've been trying to get rid of him since you started . . . doing whatever you were doing in the hallway."

I pulled my head away from Alec's shoulder. "You are being awfully _un_ -sympathetic."

Alec shrugged noncommittally. "You're my little sister. It's my right to think that all guys you're with that way are evil. Especially ones who hurt you like this one did."

"You're no help, you know that? Go sleep and get un-jetlagged and when you're feeling more like Alexander Lightwood, I'll talk to you about my problems. Also, you have glitter in your hair and you smell like Giorgio Armani." I said, getting up.

"Where are you going?" Alec sputtered.

"To fix my problems," I replied while turning and walking up the stairs. Once there, I went to my room and took a long, hot, drain-the-tank-of-hot-water kind of shower that I hadn't felt like taking since Simon and I broke up. Then, I spent a whole hour doing my hair and makeup. Alec probably thought my idea of fixing my problems was having my own mini spa day, but at the moment I didn't really care about what my overprotective older brother thought. Finally, I went to my closet and pulled out the dress I had planned to wear to Aline's Christmas party and slipped it on. It was a short red one-sleeved dress with little pearls lining the neckline. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror before shaking my head and deciding that this dress didn't say _I'm sorry_. It was the kind of heartbreaker dress that said _You wish you could have me_.

So I threw on a pair of slim fit, soft cotton skinny jeans and pull on a cream coloured cable knit sweater. I slipped my feet into my favourite pair of cozy shearling-lined high heeled suede ankle boots, ones that Simon had complimented me on in the past. I applied makeup lightly, which was more than I'd been wearing for the past week.

I called my mother's favourite chauffer and had him drive me in the car—not the limo—to Simon's house. I knocked on Simon's door, fingers crossed that someone would be home. When the door opened to reveal Simon, wearing a pair of Corona Extra pyjama pants and a grey 'Made in Brooklyn' t-shirt, I let out a breath that I didn't know I'd been holding.

"Did you forget something here? I'm pretty sure I left all of your crap on your front porch last week." Simon said coldly.

"Look Simon, I'm tired of fighting. I was stupid and jealous and desperate for Aline and Maia's approval. I've haven't stopped thinking about you and us and all this since the party," I said, hoping that I sound sincere.

"Simon! Who's at the door?" Simon's bubbly and naive mother, Elaine, walked into the front hall. "Oh, Isabelle, it is so great to see you!" Elaine pulls me in for a hug and kisses both of my cheeks.

"Thanks Mrs. Lewis. I've missed being here." I said.

"Is your family doing anything today?" Elaine asked. I shook my head and she hit Simon in the arm. "What are you doing, Simon? You should've invited Isabelle over for Christmas dinner tonight weeks ago!"

A pained look crossed Simon's face and I knew it wasn't just from being smacked by his mom. "Well, Mom, you see, Isabelle and I are—"

Simon's mother wasn't having it and cut her son off mid-sentence. "Isabelle, we would love you to spend Christmas with us. Please, come in and have some tea—I just put a pot on." I nodded graciously and stepped inside their house, which smelled like a mix of orange, cinnamon and fir. Elaine continued, this time addressing Simon. "Simon, get dressed and bring down the good china plates for dinner tonight. Isabelle's going to be joining us. Isn't that wonderful?"

**Review? I'll try to update as soon as possible. Thank you for your support and patience!**


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